You Don't Know Me
by TesubCalle
Summary: Sequel to 'You Belong to Me' UPDATE! Chapter 22 now posted. Dr. Susan Chandler continues to be the target of the deadly intentions of an unknown stalker.
1. Susan's Intro

**Disclaimer:** All 'You Belong to Me', 'My Gal Sunday' and 'While My Pretty One Sleeps' characters belong to Mary Higgins Clark and publisher Simon & Schuster, and whoever else can legally lay claim to them. I am making no money from this story. I am simply borrowing them for my own nefarious purposes. Please do not sue as I mean no copyright infringement, and have no money to fight a lawsuit, much less pay for the rights for the use of anything.

**SPOILER ALERT** If you have **NOT** read 'You Belong to Me' by Mary Higgins Clark, be warned that the following material reveals several plot developments and the identities of villains contained within said novel. If you do NOT wish to have these details revealed, do **NOT** read this fan fic. Instead, run out to your favourite bookstore or library and get your hands on 'You Belong to Me'. After you're done reading that, return here immediately and find out what happens next (in my world) to the characters...(you just _thought_ it ended where it did)...Further, some other MHC characters will be making 'guest appearances' which might also lead to the revealing of plot lines from their respective stories.

The reader will note that the setting for this story is New York City, which stays true to the author's original setting. Out of respect and sensitivity for the victims of the attacks on the World Trade Center, absolutely no mention will be made of that tragic event in this story.

**You Don't Know Me**

**1**

"**This is Dr. Susan Chandler**, thanking you for joining me today. Don't forget to tune in Monday morning where we'll be discussing how to help the elderly avoid being victimized by con artists and scams. It is an important issue that needs to be addressed, so I hope you'll listen in. Until then, have a safe and happy weekend."

A familiar musical theme played in Susan's headphones as she removed them and watched as the 'on air' signal flashed off. She collected some papers on the desk in front of her, and stood up to leave the studio. That ended this week's instalment of '_Ask Dr. Susan'_, an advice program that Susan, a clinical psychologist, had hosted for the past four years.

The producer of the program, Jed Geaney, opened the studio door for her, and as was customary, congratulated her on a show well done. "I know I say it all the time, Susan: good job today."

"Thanks, Jed," she replied, picking up her shoulder bag, slipping past him. Knowing he sincerely meant the compliment, Susan had long ago ceased making a customary, self-effacing reply. "See you on Monday."

"By the way, when does Don's flight get in?" Jed asked her.

"This evening, around six," she replied. 'Don' was Dr. Donald Richards, Susan's husband of two years. The two had met on Susan's show when he was a guest, commenting on his best-selling book, _Vanishing Women_.

"Our listeners always miss him when he's not here with you for his regular Friday stint," Jed commented.

"I always said Don could replace me in a second, even from that first time he was on my show," Susan smiled at the memory. Don had admitted then he enjoyed being on her show, and that it was probably the 'ham' in him that made it so much fun.

"He misses being here Fridays, too."

_I _miss him being here, Susan thought fervently.

It had taken her a while to admit to herself, but after the horrible events that happened three years ago, Susan had come to fully realize how much she truly needed and loved Don. And to think it all started right here, she thought.

Saying a final farewell to Jed, Susan left the radio station and hailed a cab. Giving the address of her office in Central Park West, she sat back and, as was customary, mentally planned the rest of her day. As usual, she had clients all day until 5, but for a change this evening, there would be a quick dash home to freshen up before meeting Don at the airport. Together they would grab a bite to eat. At least she _hoped _that would be the plan. The latest weather report was predicting a snowstorm, which while not uncommon for the season, would probably bring the airports to a standstill, for sure delaying or even cancelling all in-bound flights. If that was the case, Susan hoped the storm blew in after Don's flight landed safely.

Arriving at the building that housed both the offices of hers and Don's private practices, Susan thought back to the turn-of-the century building in SoHo that she used as an office before she had married Don. The top floor had been hers, and down the hall were the law offices of long-time friend and confidante, Nedda Harding.

They had met when Susan was a second year law student at NYU, while Nedda had been giving a lecture. Even after Susan left the Westchester District D.A.'s office after two years, they still remained close, and Susan was grateful that Nedda had understood her desire to pursue psychology. Sometimes she missed having Nedda just down the hall. Only now, Susan smiled to herself, I have someone better down the hall; I have Don.

When they had met, Don had lived at the Central Park West address, using two rooms for his own private practice and reserving the rest for himself as a living space. When they had married, they had both given up their respective apartments, but retaining the Central Park West address for their offices had seemed to be a prudent decision. Susan relished the security she felt knowing Don was nearby, only a few doors down.

Admitting that she had been deeply affected by a near-fatal attack in her own SoHo office three years ago had been difficult for Susan. For a long time afterwards she felt vulnerable and loathed the helplessness she felt being unable to gain control of her life. Having to re-live the events during the ensuing trial did not help improve her fragile state.

But all along, Don had been there with his quiet strength. No stranger to emotional turmoil himself, Don had come through four years of living in a self-imposed limbo following the death of his first wife, Kathy. Having never recovered a body after her drowning, a sense of closure had not come easily. Eventually, Don had found the courage to let go of the haunting memories of Kathy. Susan knew the role she had played in that painful act of letting go.

The murder trial of Alexander Wright a little over two years ago proved taxing on Susan. She herself had taken the stand on the side of the prosecution to relate her harrowing experience with the suave yet insane serial killer. A master of disguise, Alex Wright had taken special interest preying upon distinctly lonely women on cruises in an attempt to fulfil the objectives of his own twisted mission. Susan had become a threat to his security when she began privately investigating the disappearance of one of his victims, stock analyst Regina Clausen.

Susan thought back to when she first met Alex Wright, and frowned uncomfortably. A man of wealth and apparent privilege, Alex had been invited to an anniversary party by Susan's stepmother Binky, with the intention of introducing him to Susan's older sister, widow Dee. Instead, Alex had met and apparently been taken with Susan.

It chilled Susan to think that the killer of all those missing women from the outset of her search had been literally under her nose. He had been so convincing, and so charming and attentive. But all along it had been a deft deception. Even as he had been in the act of suffocating her that near fatal evening, Alex, disguised in a dirty wig and shabby clothes, had cooed that he might have been happy with her had she left her investigation alone. Susan doubted that outright.

If I had truly mattered to him like he claimed I did, Susan reasoned, he would have allowed me to get him the kind of help he needed.

Instead he had attacked her in her office and sealed her head-to-toe in a heavy shroud of a plastic bag, and departed so as to pursue his next intended target, Susan's lonely sister, Dee. Only Susan's own quick thinking and Don's growing concern for her safety made it possible for both Susan and Dee to avoid being Alex's final victims.

Alex Wright had received several consecutive life sentences without the possibility of parole for the murders of several people, and for the attempted murder of Susan. He had barely avoided the death penalty after evidence that he was severely mentally disturbed was presented that even Susan in her expert judgment could not dispute.

After the trial ended and subsequent press coverage eased, Don had proposed marriage to Susan. Not wanting to make a rash decision based on raw emotions stemming from the trial, or the fact that Don had been the one to find her barely conscious on the floor of her office, Susan put off giving him an answer for two weeks, during which she took a brief vacation.

She found, however, that the only thing she was able to think about was how much she wanted and needed Don in her life. They had started very casually as acquaintances after that first radio show, both carrying emotional baggage from past relationships. Don had lost his wife, and Susan had lost her boyfriend Jack years earlier to Dee, and eventually to death in a skiing tragedy. She'd been initially resentful of Don's attempts to help her, and standoffish in response to his sincere compliments and attraction during those first nine awkward days. But after it all, Susan realised she finally felt ready to trust again; to love again. She joyfully returned to New York and accepted Don's proposal. The two were married a month later.

Now settling into her office, Susan opened the case file of her first patient of the day and became engrossed in her work.


	2. Don's Intro This Flight Tonight

**2**

Dr. Donald Richards returned his executive-class seat to its proper position and buckled his seat belt in preparation for the final descent into LaGuardia airport. Peering out the window, he was dismayed to note that the ground below was not visible. Dark clouds obscured the view, and Don remembered weather reports that predicted heavy snowfall. He was grateful that his flight had at least made it in before everything came down.

Returning home from a court case in Georgia that had required his expert testimony as a psychiatrist and criminologist for the prosecution had left Don feeling mentally and emotionally drained. In spite of his testimony, the trial had ended in an acquittal. He sighed and realised he probably felt the same way Susan must have felt after losing cases when she was with the D.A.'s office before she became a clinical psychologist. He smiled briefly to himself. Susan would be waiting at the terminal for him when he arrived. Even though he'd been away for two weeks, Don missed her, and couldn't wait to be back in New York with her.

She was such a contrast from what his first wife, Kathy, had been. Kathryn Carver Richards had been a top model with a tall and slender 5'11" frame, emerald green eyes and coppery red, collar-length locks. Susan was about 5'7" with expressive hazel eyes that darkened and lightened as her moods dictated, had dark blonde, shoulder-length hair, and what she ruefully referred to as a 'stubborn chin'. While Kathy with her drop-dead-gorgeous model features had made many a head turn, Susan herself was no slouch in the looks department, and was quite attractive in a quiet and understated way. Kathy had been notorious for cancelling plans at the last minute, including important work assignments. Susan, on the other hand, was always steadfastly dutiful to her vast list of tasks and responsibilities, even if she cut the timing pretty close more often than not. Maybe it was her training from the D.A.'s office, but Susan could verbally spar with the best of them. Kathy had been a little more reticent, and preferred to let others carry a conversation. But both, Don decided, had a delightful sense of humour, and a delightful laugh to match.

He knew he had been taking a huge gamble when he asked Dr. Susan Chandler to marry him. But Don had come to the point where he knew he had to move beyond Kathy. When he met Susan, he came to the sudden realization that he had finally found the right woman to move on with. It hadn't been easy breaking those walls down. Susan had fiercely guarded her independence and her emotions for a long time following Jack's betrayal, and the messy divorce of her parents - which led to the re-marriage of her father, Charles, and a heavy state of depression for her mother, Emily. Don remembered how Susan had also resented and rejected his earnest efforts to help with her investigation of Regina Clausen's disappearance.

How relieved he had been to find her that night, alive in her office after that lunatic had tried to murder her. After the initial shock of seeing her lying bound on the floor surrounded by shards of glass and her own blood had passed, he'd ripped open the heavy plastic 'shroud' with his bare hands and gently lifted Susan into his arms.

Don was aware that the feeling he experienced then was akin to redemption. For years he had blamed himself for not being there for Kathy – now he could rest assured that he had been there for Susan. Truthfully, Susan had already done most of the work to save herself that night. She had managed to tip the wastebasket that held pieces of a broken Waterford crystal vase that had ironically been a gift from Alex Wright. Her consciousness ebbing, she'd been able to use those razor sharp shards to slice through the plastic, allowing life-saving air to seep in. Unfortunately, the shards had also sliced deeply into her back and shoulders. As a medical doctor, Don knew that his arrival meant that Susan was able to receive the medical attention she needed before she possibly bled to death. The scars from those wounds were still a visible reminder to both of them of that ordeal.

The two weeks Susan had taken to think about his proposal after the murder trial were some of the most agonising in Don's life. He _knew_ he loved her. He also knew he'd never betray or abandon her. He just hoped he'd been able to convince her of that. When she returned with her absolute "yes", he was both relieved and overjoyed.

"And I've been happy ever since," he thought to himself, as the plane gently touched down on the runway in one of the smoothest landings Don could remember in a while.

If only life could always be like that, he mused, as they taxied to the arrival gate.


	3. The New Client

**3**

At 3:50 p.m. Susan saw her client out and buzzed her secretary to inquire about phone messages and other important memos that might have come in during her 50-minute session.  

            "Just one message, Doctor," answered Dana Brodie, Susan's and Don's present secretary. "From your sister, Dee. Would like you to call her when you get a break this afternoon."

            "Thanks, Dana," Susan replaced the receiver. Knowing Dee loved to talk for extended periods of time, Susan opted not to return her sister's call at present. She wondered how it was that Dee was unable to comprehend what little time she had to spare when dealing with a full, daily practice. Besides, her next client was a new referral, and she wanted to be up to speed with the newcomer's history. 

            In her mid-sixties, new client Hannah Olsen had been widowed in the last year. She had received a good and fair amount from her late husband's life insurance, but had been bilked out of most of it by a crafty con artist. Hannah now felt incapable of making good financial decisions, and was seeking to overcome this fear.

            Susan sighed to herself. She'd be doing a show on the vulnerability of the elderly and their finances on Monday. She sincerely hoped she might help inform people and provide them with a means to identify a trickster when he or she began their games. It was too late for Hannah Olsen, but hopefully not too late for others in her position. 

            Susan thought abruptly of what initiated her interest in how people are made victims of scams. It had sprouted out of concern for her mother, Emily, who after years of depression, anger and feelings of betrayal from her bitter divorce, had finally relented and agreed to date again. In the beginning, most of the dates had been friendly affairs with lonely widowers who missed having female companionship. Emily had not minded at all, as she herself was not ready to become serious about anyone. But one man in particular seemed to spark an interest in Emily, and he seemed as equally interested in her. 

            Part of Susan was still wistful about a reunion and reconciliation between her estranged parents. The other part was happy for her mother, as it meant that she was comfortable being in a new relationship apart from ex-husband Charles. Her attitude changed, however, when Susan began to suspect the man, Eric Norton, was not as sincere as he appeared to be. Small and seemingly inconsequential details about his social and business life didn't add up. Susan felt Eric was working a confidence scheme, and that Emily was his unwitting victim. Concerned that her mother might not believe Eric was attempting a swindle, Susan asked her friend, retired FBI agent Chris Ryan to investigate. Chris owned his own security firm and Susan sometimes sought his help on private investigative matters. 

            Chris turned up several interesting pieces of information regarding 'Eric Norton', formerly Eric Namath, formerly Anton Riley. Anton Riley had been suspected but never charged in several 'sweetheart' swindles. His subsequent aliases were also under suspicion by authorities. However, none of his victims, whether identified or not, had cared to press charges. In most cases, Chris had explained to Susan, the ones who have been scammed never press charges because they fear embarrassment, or loss of independence.

            Presenting this information as gently as she could to Emily, Susan was relieved when her mother dispatched Eric, making it clear she was not going to fall victim to his schemes. It was a little later that Emily admitted to Susan that she was about to help finance a 'golden opportunity' as Eric had put it, money which Emily would undoubtedly have never seen again.

            That incident made Susan aware of the prevalence of scam artists, especially the victimization of elderly persons, and decided to use her radio show as a means of informing her listening audience. Susan hoped to help others before they got to the point Hannah Olsen had reached, and was grateful her mother had been willing to trust her findings about 'Eric'. 

            The intercom buzzed, and Dana announced that Hannah had arrived for her session. Glancing at her file again, Susan hoped she might be able to bring Hannah back to a point where her shattered confidence and sense of independence was restored.


	4. Enter Dee

** 4**

            Dee Chandler Harriman hung up the phone after speaking with Dana Brodie. Leaving a message for Susan to call her when she had the opportunity to do so, Dee was anxious to pass along a bit of news, but did not want to give the impression that it was anything pressing. She wanted the full impact of the news to be a surprise.

Older than Susan by about four years, Dee, a former model, nevertheless maintained a youthful appearance and was a very attractive woman. She had inherited her mother's lovely features, and knew that people still commented that they looked more like sisters than mother and daughter.

Dee had returned to New York City about three years earlier, having lived in Los Angeles for seven years. Two of those seven had been spent as a widow. Dee had always loved New York, but had hated the cold. The California climate had been very agreeable, but widowhood had not. She had sold her share of a modelling agency to her partners and returned, in the hopes that being closer to her family and old friends would ease the loneliness. She also hoped to put aside the desolation and depression that enveloped her after her husband, photographer Jack Harriman, was killed in an avalanche while on a skiing trip. It was a tragedy Dee had unfortunately witnessed. 

The fact that the first man she was interested in upon returning, namely Alex Wright, had turned out to be a serial killer put a damper on Dee's search for a new husband. The whole experience had in fact been rather eye-opening for her. The experience had also brought the two sisters closer than they had been in a very long time. It was the last time, Dee swore, that she'd willingly pursue someone Susan was even casually seeing. 

Jack Harriman had been the first time. He and Susan had been very serious about each other when Susan was in her 3rd year of law school. Their relationship had reached a point where Susan, in fact, felt marriage was soon in the future.

And then she introduced us at that family party, and I fell like a ton of bricks, Dee thought, remembering that first conversation they'd had. It was Christmas, and Dee had just returned to New York, having spent a better part of the year modelling in Europe. 

"Susan told me you were a model, but I didn't imagine you were this pretty," Jack had said when the two spoke alone at the party, with a little too much meaning in his voice. 

Dee had initially wanted to ignore the mutual attraction they felt. It was easy to ignore at first, Dee thought, because I was still modelling all over the world for much of the New Year. But then came those disastrous publicity photos back in New York a year later. "Susan only thinks everything started with that call I made to Jack to get his opinion on those photos…but I know it was that first Christmas we met," Dee said to herself.  

Why she had ever called Jack when she was upset about the photos, Dee could only chalk up to personal weakness and desperation. We hurt her terribly when we revealed to her what was going on, Dee had had to admit to herself. 

Recently, though, she also began to see that she harboured feelings of jealousy and envy towards Susan with regards to her talents, accomplishments and relationships - especially with their father, Charles. Dee knew that Susan was the 'Daddy's girl' of the two, or at least had been when they were growing up. 

Charles Chandler had loved to ski, and had tried teaching both his daughters when they were young. Dee had hated it because she hated the cold. Susan, however, had thrived on the ski hill, and that winter activity provided an opportunity for father and daughter to bond. 

I suppose that was the start of my jealousy, Dee thought, and I guess I resented the fact that Dad didn't try harder to find other things to do with me. I sought consolation with Mom, and later modelling became my area of expression. That should have brought me satisfaction, especially with all the attention I got from so many people.  And there were so many men who wanted to be with me, too. But Susan just always seemed happier, more content with what she had, and I wanted that. Perhaps going after Jack and marrying him was my way of convincing myself that I could have what she had, and that she wasn't immune to misery, either. 

From that point there had been a rift between the sisters that was compounded by the move across the country to California that Dee and Jack had made after they'd married. 

What happened with Alex brought the sisters together, because they both knew how close they'd come to losing each other. Dee remembered the frantic call she'd received from a shaky-sounding Susan late the Monday night she was on her Panama cruise, warning her about Alex. Dee had the satisfaction of identifying Alex when he'd tried to board the ship as it docked at San Blas the next morning, and watching as authorities took him into custody.

I shouldn't have tried to go after Alex, Dee regretted, and that's not just because he was a psycho. He was rightfully seeing Susie, even though I knew it was nothing serious. I swear I'll never let another man come between us again. Besides, Don's not my type, and I'm not alone anymore, either.  

Dee looked down at her left hand and smiled. The gold wedding band that had been there for ages had been replaced by a diamond engagement ring. 

"Wait 'til Susie hears that Russ proposed to me last night!" 


	5. Don Arrives

**5**

            At ten of five, Susan saw her final client out and quickly began filing her papers away in a secure cabinet. Dana was already on her way out when Susan locked her office door and bid her farewell. 

            Making sure she locked the outer door to the offices, Susan tucked the key away carefully and hurried down the hall. She was aware of how safety-conscious she had become in the past three years, but had long ago decided that she would not become obsessive about it. Not that is was easy. Dark hallways still tended to make her skin crawl from time to time. Whether Susan liked it or not, the incident with Alex Wright had definitely left her with more than physical scars. But at least he was behind bars, and would never have a chance to kill again. 

            A recurring thought that filled Susan with dread was how very close she came to losing her life three years ago. Who would have found her lifeless body tucked away under her desk had that Waterford vase not been accidentally broken? 

Don?

Her former secretary Janet?

Nedda?

A custodian or security guard? 

And what would have then happened to Dee? Certainly Alex would have found her on that cruise she was taking, where a similar fate would have befallen her. And their family and friends would have had two deaths to mourn. 

            Dee…Susan remembered that her older sister had left a message. Wonder what she wanted, thought Susan. Whatever it was, it would have to wait. She had a husband to collect from the airport.

            At 6:30 Susan was waiting at the arrival gate for Don. She could not suppress a broad smile that broke out on her face when she spotted the familiar 'leaf-brown' head, as she liked to call it. She saw the same smile mirrored on his face when they finally managed to make eye contact. From the weariness in his eyes, however, Susan could tell he was tired, and the jubilant expression that usually accompanied a court-case win when he was called upon to testify was absent. 

            Weaving his way through the other disembarking passengers, Don walked swiftly to Susan, and the pair embraced warmly for a few long moments, and then kissed before separating. 

            "It's good to be back home again," Don said as they made their way to the baggage claim area.

            "It was only two weeks – did you really miss me that much?" Susan smiled.

            "What makes you think I missed _you_?" Don replied with a grin.

            "Oh, I don't know, but whoever it was you missed better not be getting hugged and kissed the same way I just did, mister," Susan teased. The two shared a chuckle, and stopped in front of the carousel to wait for Don's suitcase to arrive.

            "The prosecution lost, didn't they," Susan asked finally.

            "Yes…I tried to make out that the defendant was the extremely jealous type, and given to fits of violence, but the jury had to buy the 'reasonable doubt' card the defense trumped because it appeared that robbery was the initial motive, which would mean someone else could have committed the murder." Don let out a sigh. 

            "Yes, I know it can be rough…you already know that I saw my fair share of loses while with the D.A.'s office. The toughest ones are where you know the defendant is guilty as sin, but the evidence needed to convince the jury is either lacking or inadmissible. It can be especially rough on families of the victim if it's a murder trial…" Susan stopped, and both knew what she was thinking of. They politely turned the conversation over to the weather, and where they would dine for the night.

            "Weather reports as we were flying in indicated there was going to be a blizzard," Don said. 

            "Yes, we're expecting it any time now." 

            "You know, darling, I was actually thinking we could just stay home, maybe order in something – oh, here's my suitcase – some pizza, maybe, and just avoid the whole snowstorm." Don snatched his suitcase off the carousel.

            "Sounds good to me," said Susan.

            "Besides," Don continued, "I really am beat. It'll be nice just to sit down and stoke up a fire in that nice, wood-burning fireplace of ours."

            "Pizza and a nice evening spent at home in front of a fire it is, then," Susan affirmed.

            The thick flakes of snow were just drifting down as they caught a taxi and left the airport, giving the address to their home on Christopher Street. 

            Nearly a half-hour later, Don and Susan entered their luxury home in Secret Gardens in Greenwhich Village. The three bedroom, two bath duplex was both spacious and convenient, as it was fairly close to their offices in Central Park West, as well as the radio station from which _Ask Dr. Susan _was broadcast. Their living room with the fireplace faced their private garden, which was a restful retreat for the busy couple. 

It was a wonderful home for entertaining guests as well, which Don and Susan had recently taken advantage of during the previous week, celebrating Don's 43rd birthday. And if they ever started a family, which was one of the deciding factors in the purchase of the home, there was ample room for extra members. 

"If my manly-man isn't too tired from his trip, I'll ask him to light the fire while I get the wine out and order the pizza," said Susan.

"Sounds like a deal," Don answered, setting his suitcase down.

            Susan dialled the number to a favourite pizza place on Bleecker Street while Don busied himself with logs for the fire.      

            Later in each other's arms, the couple watched, mesmerized by the millions of flakes that swirled to the ground outside, and by the dying flames that sent lively shadows dancing in the dim living room.

            "Mother called while you were away," Susan murmured, referring to Don's mother. She had taken up calling Elizabeth Wallace Richards 'Mother', as Don himself called her, because she loved how it sounded when he did. 

            "Oh? What did she want?" 

            "Just to know if you'd gotten in to Georgia alright."

            "Was that all?"

            "Well, you know, Mother's somewhat obsessed about grandchildren," Susan chuckled, "she says that we've already been married for two years, and that she's not getting any younger. So I keep telling her it's not from lack of trying."

            "We could try tonight," Don said, brushing his lips against her cheek.

            "I thought you said you were beat…or is that the wine talking?" Susan asked, returning his kiss.

            "Susan, I'm crushed," Don responded in mock injury. "I'm never too beat when it comes to starting a family." He stood up, crossed to the fireplace and doused with water the last remaining embers to ensure the fire was dead.  Susan stood, took his hands and followed him as they slipped into the master bedroom.


	6. Binky

**6**

Binky Chandler awoke early on Saturday morning. Her husband Charles was dozing, and was snoring lightly. It was a noise she found especially irritating and irksome. Nearly seven years of marriage, and she was still unable to tolerate it. Not that she had cared to try. Binky considered the many perceived flaws in Charles Chandler that she did tolerate, or pretended to tolerate, but his snoring was not one of them. 

            Three months ago, after agonising over the decision for almost three years, Charles had finally retired as chairman-CEO of Bannister Foods. A very handsome retirement package and a lavish party followed his announcement that he was calling it quits. 

            In those three months, Charley had found little else to do besides golf at the country club and lounge around the house. His nearly constant presence was beginning to try her patience. He always wanted to know what her plans were. Interfering, meddling, doting and fawning over her. 

            A few years ago, when the board of Bannister Foods had first floated a generous offer for Charles to retire, I hit the roof when he told me he was seriously considering it, Binky thought. I told him he'd better find something useful to do with his time, and was relieved when he told them he'd retire later, and on his own steam. But now…

Binky wondered how much longer she would be able to live under the same roof as her husband if things continued the way they were. The risks she had taken in pursuing him in the first place returned to her. Charles Chandler, who'd had a thriving business, a lovely wife and two grown daughters; Charles, who thought of himself as being high-class and well-bred; Charles, who was still woefully insecure about himself. He had been an easy target. The allure of his fortune and what he could offer her in material benefits had been very attractive, and he, in turn had been taken with her, a woman fifteen years his junior. 

She was concerned at that time that she would be perceived as nothing more than an opportunistic gold-digger. Thinking back to seven years ago before Charles decided to marry her, Binky darkly remembered that Susan had begged her father not to break up with Emily. Binky saw the doubt in his eyes before he left on a vacation on Susan's advice to 'think it over', but was victorious in the end when he chose to leave Emily and marry her anyway.

Binky knew that there were those who felt that she was interested only in money, and what the privileges of being wealthy brought her, but was unconcerned about such idle gossip. What did concern her, though, was that her lawyer/psychologist step-daughter probably knew it was mostly true from the start. As she sat up in bed and made her way to the bathroom, she wondered what her next move should be.


	7. Gran Susie

**7**

Susan was dreaming. At the beginning, she had been in her deceased grandmother's home, the one she had been named for. Gran Susie had looked at her and said: "Be careful, Susan, it is dangerous and I don't want you to fall." Then she found herself on a ski slope, and realised she had inexplicably gone out of bounds and was hurtling towards a precipice. Desperately trying to slow her approach, she took a deliberate fall, but her momentum still carried her over the edge. A pair of hands grabbed her, and Susan looked up and saw her rescuer was Jack Harriman. Suddenly, a second woman tumbled over the edge, and Jack wildly whipped an arm out to grab her. Susan looked in surprise at her sister, Dee. 

"But you don't even like skiing," Susan said to her. 

"I follow Jack wherever he goes," Dee said in return. Jack then looked down at them and said: "I can't hold on to both of you." Susan realised with horror that she and Dee were dragging him down over the edge. "I'm sorry, Susan, but I love Dee."

Susan wanted to scream that she had been saved first, that it wasn't fair. "Please, Jack, don't let me go," she begged. 

"I'm sorry, Susan," he repeated, and relaxed his grip on her wrist. As she was falling, she saw Jack pull Dee up to safety. Just before Susan felt sure she would hit the ground below, strong, loving arms caught her. Don's voice, full of compassion and warmth said: "I've got you, Susan. I love you and I promise I'll never let you go." Susan woke with a start and snapped her eyes open. 

It was a dream that was similar to others she'd had in the past. The first time she had ever dreamt it was when Jack and Dee had told her they were seeing each other, and Jack wrote her a letter saying how sorry he was. 

Neither Gran Susie nor Don were in the dream that first time, and Susan remembered the falling sensation seemed to last forever, and that no one had caught her. For nearly a year the dream would occasionally come to plague her. It had faded as a few years went by and had seemingly vanished completely after Jack died.

When she had gone away for the two weeks to think about Don's proposal, the dream returned, and for the first time, Don caught her when Jack let her go. Sitting up, Susan realised this was the first time that her grandmother entered the scenario. Maybe it was the residual effect of the dream, but Susan now felt as if Gran Susie was somehow present in an almost tangible way, as a benevolent guardian and protector.  

Three years ago, when the business with Alex Wright had started, Susan recalled that Gran Susie had been in her thoughts frequently, and wondered now if that hadn't been an indication that she should have been wary, in light of this new dreamland warning. 

"And if Gran is trying to warn me now as I suspect she was trying to warn me then, what is it I should be concerned about?" Susan thought to herself. 


	8. Don's Dream

**8**

            Don was roused by the sound of the shower, and realised Susan had already awakened. He pulled the thick, soft, down comforter closer around his chin to help retain the warmth it afforded. Sometime in the early hours of the morning after the heavy snowfall had ceased, Don figured Susan must have opened one of the bedroom windows so that the room was now quite cold. It was a quirky habit of hers he indulged, although he wasn't too sure of what was so appealing waking to a freezing cold room. 

Cracking open one eye, he quickly scanned the room, and noted all the windows were securely shut. She must have closed it when she got up, Don thought, glad he didn't have to abandon the comfort of the bed to do so himself. Shutting his eye, he decided it was still too early to get up. The unwritten rule between them was that the first one to rise fixed breakfast and coffee, so Don knew he could afford to rest a little longer. 

The sound of the shower ceased, and in the stillness, Don's mind wandered, and he suddenly recalled an early morning dream he had. He had been sitting in the back of a taxicab, horns blaring all around him. He somehow sensed that Susan was in danger and that he was trying to reach her. But he was trapped in a traffic jam, and the cab driver told him there was nothing he could do but wait until everything cleared. Then Don had known in the dream why he felt Susan was in danger: Alex Wright was killing her. She would suffocate if he didn't somehow make it through the wall of traffic and get to her in time. Don remembered in the dream he had jumped out of the cab and tried to run past the multitude of vehicles that were lined up as far as the eye could see. It seemed the harder he ran, the more the gridlocked cars prevented him from getting to Susan. He had wanted to cry angry tears of frustration when all the cars suddenly surged forward, as if what had been causing the congestion had instantly been removed. The taxi Don had originally been in sped past him then, and did not stop when he madly waved his arms in the air and cried out for it to halt. The dream had faded after that.

The dream was obviously inspired by the actual events that had happened, and Don was grateful that in real life, he had indeed reached Susan in time. Thank God it was only a dream, he sighed.

Stepping from the shower, Susan wrapped her hair in a towel and slipped into a terry-cloth robe. She padded quietly through the bedroom and into the hall to turn up the thermostat, which she had lowered during the night when she opened the bedroom window. She knew Don would be appreciative. Continuing on to the large kitchen, Susan set the coffee brewing, placing two coffee cups on the counter. Although she loved to cook, Susan usually had a light breakfast, but Don was more accustomed to a hearty morning meal.

 "Rena's spoiled you," Susan joked when they were first married. So while she would often have a bagel or English muffin and juice during the week, on most weekends if she was the first to rise, Susan would prepare something more substantial for breakfast for the two of them. Don had once confided to her that when Kathy was still alive, he had enjoyed playing chef sometimes for breakfast on Sundays. After her death, he had lost heart in that practice, and relied on Rena's excellent cooking skills. Opening the refrigerator, she decided on omelettes, and removed eggs, green onions, cheese, bread, and a tomato. 

Hot pot, cold oil, if you don't want the omelette to stick, Susan recalled hearing somewhere as she placed a large skillet on the gas burner. It sounded to her like the kind of advice Gran Susie would give. 

As the pan heated, Susan beat the eggs, chopped the green onions, and grated the cheese, which she would sprinkle liberally when the omelettes were almost done. That way, the cheese would melt then and not be overcooked. She tried slicing the tomato, but realised with the blunt knife she was using, she was only making a pulpy mess of it. Oh well, she thought, it gets all mushed-up in our mouths, anyway. 

She poured some of the egg mixture into the skillet and monitored it as the yellow mixture bubbled up into a more solid, fluffy mass. 

"Mmm, something smells good," Susan felt Don's arms around her waist and his chin on her shoulder. "Two things, actually," he continued, "you _and_ the omelette."

"Wait 'til I tell my friends my husband loves me for my cooking and my shampoo," Susan replied with a grin. "They'll all be begging for culinary lessons and the name of my brand."

Don smiled and let her go, and walked over to the coffee pot. He poured the hot liquid into the coffee cups and brought them to the dining table. Susan had just flipped the last omelette onto a serving plate with the misshapen blobs of tomato as a garnish as he finished setting the table. As if on cue, the slices of bread popped from the toaster.

"If you ever wanted to moonlight as a cook, you have my blessings," Don said as he ate the last of the eggs and toast.

"No, I think I'm busy enough as it is," Susan responded, "but thanks for the compliment." 

Don smiled inwardly. For so long, he had recognized an almost automatic and unconsciously reserved reaction from Susan when someone paid her a sincere compliment. He suspected such a reaction had had a lot to do with what happened between her and Jack Harriman. 

Jack had no doubt showered Susan with words of affection and flattery. And she no doubt had probably received such attention from him very positively. But then came the bombshell - the one that probably killed or at least numbed a part of Susan that trusted the words of the one she loved most – the revelation that Jack was no longer interested in her, but with her own sister. Susan was a naturally modest person, but Don was certain that after Jack's painful betrayal, she had found it especially hard to accept praise from anyone. But not anymore, Don thought, not anymore!

Saturdays were often quiet days that Don and Susan usually dedicated to reviewing patient files, doing research for various projects, and taking care of general housekeeping chores. 

After breakfast, Susan retired to the study to go over notes she planned to use for Monday's _Ask Dr. Susan_ program. She wanted to give her listeners a clear picture of the seriousness of the crimes committed by con artists. She also planned to put out a description of Anton Riley, in the hopes that someone in her listening audience might be able to identify him. Susan knew her mother was not the first person he had tried to defraud, and even though authorities knew of his actions, Emily was most certainly not going to be his last – unless he was apprehended with help from her description on the radio. 

Don poked his head into the study. He was sporting a jacket, hat and scarf. "I'm going to shovel the walk, okay?" 

"Have fun," she quipped, looking up at him, "there must be a foot of that stuff out there."

"I know," he muttered, pulling on some gloves, "but someone's got to do it. See you in a bit." Susan heard the front door slam, and then returned her attention to her notes. It was then she recalled that Dee had wanted her to return her call since the afternoon before. Picking up the phone, she dialled her sister's number.

"_Hi_, Susie!" came Dee's cheerful greeting when she answered. 

"You sound upbeat," said Susan.

"Try to guess why!" 

"I can't begin to imagine." 

"No, really _try_," Dee pressed. Susan suppressed a sigh. 

"Honestly, Dee, I can't guess," she said after considering for a few moments. There was a beat of silence from the other end.

"Russ asked me to marry him night before last!" Dee blurted, barely able to contain her excitement.

"Dee, that's wonderful!" Susan found herself smiling. "You sure have a thing for photographers, don't you?" Russ Schuster was a fashion photographer Dee had met soon after she took a consulting job with a modelling agency some time after her return to New York.

"I guess so," Dee said happily. Susan reflected that such an exchange between them would have been impossible three years ago. 

"So, have you thought of a date yet?" Susan inquired.

"We're shooting for sometime in January," Dee responded, still unable to quell her excitement. 

"That's just great, Dee, I'm so happy for the both of you!"

"You know, I didn't think I'd ever find someone I could love as much as I loved Jack," Dee said blithely.

Neither did I, Susan thought to herself, again pleased to note she felt no bitterness at the mention of Jack. The two of us really are over him. 

"Russ has been so wonderful to me. I can't imagine life without him. And to think I didn't even want to work anymore after moving back here. Taking that consulting job is one of the best moves I've ever made. If I hadn't, I'd have never met Russ." 

"Well, I look forward to having him for a brother-in-law," Susan said honestly, thinking of the pleasant and good-looking man her big sister was now engaged to marry.

"_Thanks_ Susie! I'll tell him you said that!"

After a few more minutes of chit-chat, the sisters hung up, promising to remain in touch. Settling back into concentrating on her notes, Susan began to think about how much she actually knew about the man who was to become her new brother-in-law.


	9. The Mothers

As was customary for her to do, Emily Chandler put a call through to the country club where she'd maintained a membership to determine if her ex-husband's current wife was to be in attendance. It was a practice she had taken up as a means of avoiding Binky at all costs. If Binky was not expected to be there, Emily planned to book a lunch reservation for herself and Elizabeth Richards, with whom she'd become very friendly after the marriage of Don and Susan. Being informed that she need not worry about the current 'Mrs. Chandler', Emily proceeded with her plans.

After seven years, Emily still felt a pang of sadness every time her thoughts happened to drift to the subject of her less-than-amicable separation and divorce from Charles. Nearly forty years of marriage, and he'd somehow become infatuated with someone new, someone younger – a 'Trophy Wife'. The almost debilitating state of depression she'd sunk into as a result had since passed, and Emily had in a sense, moved on with her life. Still, she felt incomplete. Seven years of being apart, and she had to privately admit she still loved Charles, even though he had hurt her so deeply. 

Once, a few years ago in a less infuriated mood, she had been speaking to Susan, who had been very supportive and a real lifeline in Emily's darkest moments. Susan had tried to get her mother to articulate her feelings towards Charles in a more positive way, to try to remove the negativity she felt. 

"If you had asked me to do this even a year ago, Susan, my response would have been different," Emily had said. "But if I were to express my feelings now…do you remember that album you used to always play years ago when you were still living at home and in law school? I think it was Sadé. There was one song, and the words went something like_: 'I won't pretend that I intend to stop living/I won't pretend I'm good at forgiving/But I can't hate you, although I have tried/I still really, really love you/Love is stronger than pride.' _"

"I remember," Susan had said. "Is that the way you truly feel about Dad now?"

"Honestly, Susan, it's nearly impossible for me to forgive him for what he did to me – what he did to the family…I _hate_ what he _did,_ but I can't hate _him_."

            "If Dad decided to return to you, today, what would you do?" Susan had asked gently.

            "Do you mean would I take him back? No… well, I don't know. I couldn't take him back and pretend like nothing had happened. He would have to be very convincing. He'd have to earn my trust all over again, and I can't even begin to imagine how he could do that. He broke our marriage vows…as if the unbreakable bond between us and God meant absolutely nothing." 

Susan had nodded in understanding. 

Set up by a friend, Helen Evans, Emily had tried dating again about three years ago, going on a blind date she found she enjoyed. A few others followed, though she never considered them to be romantic, nor had she really been looking for a serious relationship. Then had come the unfortunate business with the man who had called himself 'Eric Norton'. Even though he was somewhat younger than she was, and claimed to be a widower, he'd seemed handsome, charming and sophisticated enough to warrant seeing him on more than one occasion. But he'd certainly raised some warning bells in Susan's mind, for which Emily was grateful. 

 She had spent only a short time admonishing herself for not seeing that he was only interested in her money, because she realised two things: One, she was not truly emotionally attached to him, and most certainly not in love with him; and two, many people fall victim to very intelligent con artists who make a career out of their illegal activities.

'Eric' had vanished when Emily announced she would not help finance his 'business opportunity', but she had filed a formal complaint with the proper authorities. She was also prepared to testify against him in the event that he was ever apprehended. Susan had told her that a lot of con artists actually get away because no one presses charges against them. Emily wasn't about to see this criminal get away scot-free.

After that rather sour experience, Emily had stopped dating, and almost resigned herself to the fact that if Charles was actually happy with Binky, she herself would remain single for the rest of her days.

            Bringing her thoughts back to the present, Emily phoned Elizabeth and let her know their plans for lunch at the country club were on. 

            "So 'The Trophy' isn't going to be there, I take it," Elizabeth joked, using the disparaging term Emily had coined for her rival. 

            "No, thank God," Emily said fervently. "I made the reservation for one o'clock. With all the snow that fell last night, the roads are going to be a mess. Is that enough time for you to make it down?"

            "It should," Elizabeth responded. "In fact, it even gives me an opportunity to do a little painting, and Carmen a break from preparing a meal." Carmen was Elizabeth's live-in housekeeper, whose sister, Rena, had been Don's housekeeper after Kathy died. After he married Susan, Rena had returned to Jamaica to help care for her ailing mother.

            "It must be so nice having live-in help," Emily commented wistfully.

            "Em, why don't you hire someone? It's not like you can't afford it," Elizabeth responded.

            "Oh, I know," sighed Emily, "maybe I will one of these days. Rena and Carmen don't have a third sister somewhere, do they?"

            "Not that I know of," Elizabeth laughed. "I can't imagine what I'd do without Carmen. I sometimes get so engrossed in a painting I forget to eat! If it weren't for her, I'd have fallen down dead from malnutrition by now." The two laughed, and then ended the conversation, re-affirming the arrival time at the country club.

            Emily hung up the phone and walked into her spacious bedroom and into her walk-in closet. "Now," she said to herself, "what am I going to wear?"


	10. Good Friends

**10**

**[Note to my readers: **This chapter introduces characters from the 1989 novel by MHC called 'While My Pretty One Sleeps'. I have treated the time lapse as actual years that might have occurred between the events in 'While My Pretty One Sleeps' and 'You Belong to Me'. (In other words, 12 years have elapsed since the events in While My Pretty One Sleeps.)**]**

An hour later, Susan heard the front door slam again, followed by shuffling noises which she attributed to Don removing his boots and layers of winter wear. He soon appeared at the study door.

            His hair sticking out at odd angles after pulling off his hat, Don said: "I don't know how much jogging we're going to be able to do tomorrow unless they do a good job clearing the paths."

            "Maybe I should whip out my cross-country skis instead of my sneakers," Susan remarked.

            "There is _a lot_ of snow out there," Don said with emphasis. 

            "Well, J.C. and Neeve are troopers," Susan said, "they'll jog in anything."

            Susan was referring to Jack Campbell and Neeve Kearny, a married couple they were very friendly with. Jack was the president of Givvons & Marks, the publishing house that had released Don's _Vanishing Women._

The first Christmas Don and Susan had been married, they'd been invited to a function hosted by Givvons & Marks at the Four Seasons. _Vanishing Women_ had remained a favourite in the True Crime section of many bookstores, and was about to enter its second printing. At the function they'd met Jack and Neeve, and Jack had congratulated Don on the success of his book. 

"So when are you going to write me a sequel?" he'd asked. Don had smiled and replied that his reasons for writing _Vanishing Women_ had been satisfied, and that a part two wasn't necessary. 

Realising that Susan was the same 'Dr. Susan' from the _Ask Dr. Susan_ show, Jack had jokingly said: "Have you ever thought of writing a book about your experiences with Alexander Wright? I'm sure it would be a New York Times best-seller. People love true crimes."

"Thanks, but no thanks," Susan had said. "The last thing I need now is to have my life as an open book, especially after that trial. I was actually approached by some second-rate cable channel about a 'movie-of-the-week' deal." 

"What happened?" Jack had asked.

"I turned them down, obviously," Susan had replied. "They were thinking of casting someone ten years my senior to play me, and she wasn't even blonde."

"And nowhere nearly as attractive, I might add," Don had interjected.

"Besides, those cable stations tend to add such tremendously ridiculous things for 'dramatic purposes'." Susan finished.

"So no 'Dr. Susan Chandler Story', huh?"

"Not in a million years."

The couples eventually got a table together for the rest of the evening.

Further comparing notes with Neeve, who was seated opposite her, Susan remarked that she, too, had almost married someone named 'Jack'.

"What happened?" Neeve had asked.

"He married my sister instead…but he passed away about five years ago. He got caught in an avalanche while he was skiing with four others."

Both Jack and Neeve expressed their sympathies, but Susan assured them it was okay. Neeve's eyes had lit up suddenly, and she exclaimed, "Oh, _that's _where I know you from, Susan, the ski hill! You _do_ ski, don't you?"

"Well, I did. I haven't in a while," Susan had responded.

"I knew you looked familiar, but I just wasn't able to place your face until just now. It must have been '87 or '88, I think," Neeve had continued, "Vail. I was there with my friend Julie. I remember you now, because you said you were attending law school. We shared a lodge for a week or so."

"That's right," said Susan. "I remember. I thought to myself that you looked familiar too, but skiing isn't what comes to my mind…something more recent…do you by chance go to St. Pat's?"

"Ten-fifteen Mass?" Neeve had asked.

"Yes! That's it," Susan had smiled. "I take it those two gorgeous kids that accompany you are yours?"  

"Yes," Neeve had smiled back. "Renata and Jack Jr. … J.C.'s not Catholic, so we let him sleep in on Sundays."

"I know how that is," Susan had responded. "Don's not Catholic either, but I love him anyway. No kids for us yet, though."

Don and Susan fell in easily with calling Jack 'J.C.' when they were informed by Neeve that a certain colleague at Givvons & Marks had so dubbed him soon after he was named president. 

"Everyone calls him that now," Neeve stated with a grin, "though secretly I think he hates it!"

Susan had been impressed to learn that Neeve was the owner of 'Neeve's Place', still a very trendy and fashionable boutique after nearly 20 years on Madison Ave. and 84th Street. Guessing that Neeve was probably quite knowledgeable regarding the fashion industry, Susan said: "Perhaps you've heard of my sister, Deedra Chandler? Everyone calls her 'Dee', but professionally she was Deedra."

"Oh, sure, I've heard of her," Neeve had responded. "She was modelling Donna Karan a while back, right? I imagine she's long since retired from the runway, though,"

"Yes, more than a decade now," Susan affirmed.

"She's the one that married your Jack?" 

"She's the one. But I think we're starting to really re-connect now that she's back in New York. She'd been out in California – she had this modelling agency out there for a while. I'm actually starting to get to know her again."

"Good for you. Sometimes it can be lonely being an only child," Neeve had commented. "There were times growing up when I wished I'd had a sibling or two." Susan thought she noticed a wistful sound in Neeve's voice.

The couples had talked for hours that night, enjoying each other's company immensely, and almost failed to notice when the party finally died down and other guests left. After that they had become fast friends. Neeve and Susan would often meet at the ten-fifteen Mass at the Cathedral, join their husbands afterwards for a jog, and conclude somewhere for lunch. Most recently, J.C. and Neeve had been among the guests at Don's birthday party, and were sure to be in attendance at Susan's upcoming 36th  birthday, which fell just after Thanksgiving this year. 

"When I meet up with Neeve tomorrow at church I'll see if our usual routine still holds," Susan informed Don.

"You could just call her," suggested Don.

Susan shook her head. "They're in Jersey, visiting Neeve's brother, Mike – the one that moved back to the 'States a little while ago. Well, he's actually her step- brother. The kids are going to stay for the rest of the weekend with their cousins while she and J.C. drive back tonight. I don't happen to have Mike's number."

"Oh." Don responded. "That's the 'Mike' with the Japanese wife, right?" 

"That's right," Susan affirmed, "her name's 'Kami'. Neeve said they have three kids – two girls and a boy."

"Three, huh?" Don said walking to her with a smile as he placed his hands on her shoulders, "is that how many you'd like to have?"

"For starters," she responded, turning to face him, mirroring his smile. "But I'd be happy if we could just pull _one _off."

"So would I," Don murmured, and turned to leave, suddenly reflecting on something he realised he had never told Susan. The day his first wife Kathy had drowned, she'd been feeling queasy, and afterwards, Don felt quite certain she had been feeling ill because she was pregnant. Some things just aren't meant to be, he thought sadly, but I want these things to be for me and Susan.


	11. Talk To Me

**11**. **__**

Susan let her warm, rich alto float through the final refrain of the Recessional hymn that signalled the end of Mass. As the last chord finished resounding inside the Cathedral, she remembered that as a child growing up in Larchmont, she had really enjoyed singing and wanted to join a girls' choir. Even as a nine-year-old her voice had a deeper timbre than most of the girls her age. After a small audition with a group, the choir director had rejected Susan, since he felt her voice would be too much of a contrast to the high, soprano voices of the other members.

"She should come back when she's a teenager," the director had told Emily, "we've got an excellent young women's choir. A voice like hers would be more welcome then." 

Susan exited the pew, genuflected and then started scanning the departing members of the congregation for Neeve Kearny. I'm glad I didn't lose heart as a disappointed nine-year-old who was told she couldn't join the choir, Susan thought to herself. Going back when I was fourteen was one of the most rewarding experiences I ever had in an artistic and creative sense.

Feeling an arm on her shoulder, Susan turned, expecting to see Neeve. She was instead greeted by a stranger. 

"You're Susan, aren't you?" asked the stranger, who looked to Susan to perhaps be in her mid-fifties with salt-and-pepper hair and a kind, placid look to her otherwise plain features. 

"Yes, I am," Susan replied, with some hesitation. 

"Forgive me," the other woman said, "I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's okay," Susan said to her, "It's just that I was actually expecting you to be someone else."

"Well, my name's Claire," the woman introduced herself, "and there is actually something rather important I have to tell you…"

"Oh?" 

"Some people don't quite know how to react when I approach them like this," Claire continued tentatively, "so it is entirely up to you if you want to listen to what I have to say."

Susan nodded and said: "Please, go ahead."

"Please don't think I'm crazy, or delusional…But God has given me a gift, you could say, and the other day in prayer, I got the feeling that I should give someone named 'Susan' a particular message."

"Don't worry – I know and absolutely respect the kind of 'gift' you're talking about," Susan reassured her.

"As I said, all I knew was that it concerned someone named 'Susan'. It wasn't until I saw _you_ today at Mass that I knew you were the one I was supposed to tell. It was almost like I heard an audible voice tell me it was you…and you need to know that you're in danger."

"How – what?" Susan's brow  wrinkled in confusion.

"Something terrible happened to you some time ago," Claire closed her eyes in concentration. "I get the feeling that the danger you're in stems from whatever it was that happened in the past…Someone cursed you – yes, _a dying man cursed you_."    

"A '_dying man'?!" Susan exclaimed in a hushed tone, clearly shocked. "Who?!" _

"I don't know," the woman responded, "but this curse has been following you ever since, like a predator stalking you, and I'm supposed warn you."

"What should I do?" 

"Do you pray?" Claire asked.

"Sure, sometimes," Susan said.

"You need to pray more," came Claire's stern advice, "especially for protection. That whatever this curse is will be removed, because you're in very grave danger as it is."

"Susan, _there_ you are!" Susan turned around swiftly at the sound of her name. Neeve Kearny was a little ways behind her, waving a hand. 

"Hello, Neeve!" she called back, returning the wave. Susan turned back, politely considering introducing Claire to Neeve. A small gasp escaped her that Neeve managed to hear.

"What is it?" she asked as she came to a stop next to Susan.

"I was just speaking to someone – a woman – named Claire. Did you see where she went?" Susan began angling her neck to see over the heads of the departing parishioners. Try as she might, she could not spot the salt-and-pepper head that belonged to the older woman.

Neeve shrugged. "Sorry, Susan, I didn't see…She must have left in a hurry." 

"Perhaps," Susan said doubtfully.

"Is something wrong?" Neeve asked, looking closely at Susan with concern in her voice.

"No, it's nothing," she replied, but knew she sounded unconvincing. She was relieved that Neeve did not press the matter. Indeed, what the stranger, Claire, had said to her was somewhat unsettling. The words spoken by her grandmother in the recent dream rose to the surface of her consciousness then, especially the part warning her to be careful…

Shaking her head as if to clear it of those troubling thoughts, Susan said brightly: "So! Are we still up for jogging through knee-high snow?"

***

In spite of the large dump of snow the city received, the jogging paths were still surprisingly busy, due in part to the brilliant sunshine that makes winter mornings so attractive. The day before, city workers had been out in full force clearing the public paths. Other areas had been tramped down by joggers and strollers alike, so when the two couples met up for their usual excursion, it was not as difficult as was expected. 

The very first time they had met together for a jog occurred a few weeks after the Givvons & Marks  Christmas function. Don and Susan had let J.C. and Neeve take the lead, as they were the ones who had invited them. Both had noticed a deviation in the route they were taking when they approached the area behind the Metropolitan Museum of Art, but ignored it and followed without hesitation. 

            When they had returned home, Susan had asked Don if he thought the digression was odd…

_"I did," Don had responded. "I was wondering about it, and now I think I know why. Isn't Neeve's father Myles Kearny? I can't remember if she said so at the Christmas party…"_

_            "That's right, he is," Susan had said. "'The Legend', one of the best Commissioners this city has ever seen. He retired around the time I entered law school, I think, maybe a little earlier."_

_            "Then you must know what happened to his wife – Neeve's mother," Don had said. _

_            "Neeve hasn't spoken about her mother."_

_            "You were probably too young to remember. Neeve's mother Renata was murdered right there behind the museum when Neeve was a child. I remember, because Dad made Mother promise not to go strolling in the Park unescorted after it happened. They were both very uneasy around that time…and so was I. I kept thinking how sorry I was for this poor little girl. I couldn't imagine what I'd have done if the same thing had happened to Mother at that time."_

_            "Wait, I think I remember something about this," Susan had said. "Didn't they finally catch the killer some years ago?"_

_"Yes, I think they did."_

_"I can't believe we never made this connection about Neeve earlier. They all thought that crime boss, Nicki Sepetti was behind it, didn't they? But it turned out to be the fashion designer, Anthony della Salva. It got a lot of press. O God, poor Neeve."_

_"If she hasn't mentioned it, we probably shouldn't let on that we know unless she volunteers that information," Don said._

_"Of course…"_

Now as they jogged near the museum, the change in route so customary, Don and Susan hardly thought of it. For Neeve, it would be a place she could never erase from her memory. She divulged to Susan what had happened to her mother Renata – how her father's supposed friend from childhood, 'Uncle Sal', had slashed Renata's throat in order to claim her brilliant fashion designs as his own. 'Uncle Sal' had also ordered a hit on Neeve, and had himself held her at gunpoint, threatening to kill her in an attempt to make sure his previous dark deeds were not uncovered. 

That explanation made Susan understand Neeve's wistful comment made regarding siblings at the Christmas party. The loss of her mother meant no brothers or sisters, as her father, Myles, would not re-marry until Neeve was an adult. But at least she now has a step-brother, Susan told herself, and it seems like they get along well.

When Neeve had opened up on the subject of her mother's murder and her own life-threatening situation, Susan also shared her deadly encounter with Alex Wright. Both women were able to identify with each other's brushes with death, and that allowed them to support each other on a level other friends and family members could not.

As they sat in a café they often frequented following their jog, Susan found herself unable to stay focused on the conversation at the table. Claire's words would not leave her mind. The woman claimed to have a 'gift'- something Susan was certain existed – and she had assured Claire that she believed in the validity of such a thing. 

Susan shifted in her seat as she recalled the last person she had spoken those same words to – a woman named Pamela Hastings. Pamela's sense that there was evil and death surrounding a ring belonging to a gravely injured friend, a ring engraved with the words 'You belong to me', turned out to be quite true. 

Those damned rings, Susan thought with revulsion. A sick joke of Alex Wright's. It came out in the murder trial that he had purchased a number of the same rings, and had given them to all the women he killed on cruises. 

Giving credence to Claire's 'gift' was to give credence to her unsolicited warning. And _that _means something is not right, Susan thought, but _what_? She saw Neeve eyeing her questioningly from across the table. She knows something's bothering me, Susan thought, but I'm not ready to tell anyone about this, at least not yet. Instead she tried to refocus her attention on what the others were talking about.

"So, the changes are a bit of a gamble, but I think it's something I needed to do," Don was saying to J.C. "It means much less travel – which means more time at home, and with my practice, I'll be helping people with grief issues more than criminal issues. I think I have a certain insight into that. Besides, this last trip made me realise that my heart just isn't in it anymore."

Susan knew he was talking about a recent shift in focus with regard to his psychiatric practice, as well as his role as a jet-set expert witness. 

"After Kathy died," Don continued, "I was a wreck. I know I threw myself into my work. I took on a lot of cases that took me away from the apartment for weeks at a time."

"That's understandable," J.C. said nodding. "It sounds like you just couldn't stand to be in the same place you shared with her. Too many memories."

"Maybe," Don said. "I actually kept a lot of Kathy's things around the apartment for a good while. But back then, I'd be testifying in England one month, then make it back in time for another trial in Canada – craziness like that. It went on like that for nearly three years. I took some time off to write _Vanishing Women, _and did the book tour thing. Then I met Susan. And the rest, as they say, is history."

Don had come to a decision that he would limit his court cases to a few domestic ones, with the rare jaunt into closer Canadian cities like Toronto. He also felt that he could use his experience of personal loss for the better, which meant he began to place more of an emphasis on grief counselling rather than analysing criminal behaviour in his patients. 

"Well, I have a bit of news," Susan finally felt compelled to participate. "Dee and Russ have decided to get married."

"Hey, that's great! Tell her I say 'congratulations'," Neeve said smiling.

"I will," Susan responded. "She hasn't sounded this happy in a long time. It's kind of a relief, actually. It says to me that she's finally over Jack's death." 

"Good for her," Neeve said. "From what you've told me, Russ seems like a great guy."

"Yes, by all appearances, he's been really good to Dee." 

When they finally parted company, Don reminded J.C. and Neeve of Susan's upcoming birthday the next Saturday, the 24th of November. "I know it's the weekend just after Thanksgiving, but we're not planning anything overly fancy, just some close friends and family." he said to them. "So keep that night free for us."

"We'll be there," J.C. said. 

"Yes, we'll be in touch," Neeve affirmed.

As they made their way home, J.C. said to Neeve: "Is it just me, or did Susan seem a little distracted today?"

"Yes, but something happened in church earlier, just before I met up with her. She said she was talking to some woman, and that as soon as I said 'hi' to her, the woman took off. She seemed downright flustered about it."

"You didn't see who she was talking to?"

"No. To hear Susan tell it though, she made it sound like the woman simply vanished. She tried to make light of it, so I let it drop. I know something about the encounter must have upset her. But I just figure the other woman was in a hurry to leave and didn't have time to say goodbye."

J.C. shrugged. "Maybe it's nothing at all, but Susan doesn't strike me as the kind of person who gets 'flustered' easily."

"No, she doesn't."

"Penny for your thoughts?" Don asked Susan when they returned home. They had said nothing to each other on the way, and Don was anxious to break the silence.

"What?"

"You were off in your own little world at the café today," he said, "at least until you came 'round and told them about Dee and Russ. Something the matter?"

"Sorry, I didn't intend to ignore everyone," Susan said, hoping her answer would be sufficient to curb his curiosity, but noticed he was peering at her intently, expecting more of an answer. "It's nothing, really…"

"Okay," Don said finally, making a mental note to himself that while he knew something was clearly on her mind, Susan would tell him what was bothering her when she was good and ready. It wasn't like her to be secretive, but Don decided that Susan was allowed to have the space to deal with whatever had her on edge.

That night, preparing for bed, Don saw Susan rummaging in an old jewellery box on her dresser. Finding what she was looking for, she climbed into bed next to him.

"What's that?" He asked her, seeing that she was holding something in her hands.

"A rosary. It was Gran Susie's," Susan said. "She brought it back from a trip she made to Ireland." 

Don examined the hand-crafted beads she held out and shook his head with a small smile.

"What?" Susan asked.

"You know, when we were married, Mother said that Dad was probably turning in his grave."

"Why?"

"Dad was Presbyterian to the core. Wouldn't have anything to do with Catholicism. He regarded it with a lot of suspicion."

"Well then, I'm glad it's not a case of 'like father, like son'," Susan said.

"So am I," Don said. "Imagine not getting married over something as petty as religion... Anyway, I'm turning in. I'll let you get on with your prayers. Good night."

"Good night," Susan said, and tried to recall the last time she had recited the prayers that had been so familiar in her childhood.

Don was being led down a long, dimly-lit hall. He sensed that he was being guided by a police officer or detective towards a door that was opened a crack at the end of the hall. Gripped by a feeling of dread and apprehension, he fought the feeling to flee and continued on. After what seemed an eternity, he finally reached the door. As it swung open, his first impression was that he was in an office as he took in the room's surroundings. Desk, window, lamp… Then he was met with a terrifying scene. A body lay on the ground, covered with a blood-soaked sheet. 

They want me to identify the body, Don told himself, noting the presence of plainclothes detectives and forensic personnel snapping photographs and dusting for fingerprints. Before the sheet was raised to reveal the victim's face, Don could see the soles of the shoes extending beyond the cover of the sheet, and knew why they were so familiar…

His moans awakened him. Susan rolled over and put her arm around his chest. "What's'matter?" she asked sleepily.

"Nothing…bad dream," he whispered, still gripped by the awful fear that the nightmare had produced in him.

"Wanna tell me 'bout it?"

"No," he answered quickly. "Didn't mean to wake you. Go back to sleep."

"Okay," she said, removing her arm from him as she rolled back.

Immediately missing the sensation of her touch, Don in near-panic snuggled closer to her and gently rested his arm around her waist. He nuzzled the back of her neck, and sighed heavily, trying to dispel the terror he still felt. 

That's the second time in three nights you've dreamt about Susan getting hurt, he thought to himself, great move, Don. And no way in hell I'm telling her about those nightmares!


	12. You Don't Bring Me Flowers Anymore

**12**

**Acknowledgements:** My eternal thanks to the many websites I used for research in the areas of elder abuse and con artists, especially ElderAngels (www.elderangels.com) The information contained within was a priceless resource in the process of writing many chapters. I sincerely hope I have projected a realistic version of the behaviours of scam artists, and that a certain ElderAngels president won't be ticked if she finds I've done some slight ripping off of her words, and that a certain character is loosely based on her…

**SPOILERS: **This chapter reveals part of the plot line from the first story contained in the short story series by Mary Higgins Clark called 'My Gal Sunday'. While I consider the spoiler to be minor, you may skip the 'call-in' section of the _Ask Dr. Susan_ show if you don't want said plot line ruined.

**Monday**

When the alarm buzzed at six, Susan sat up slowly and turned the bedside lamp on. Don groggily roused himself and stifled a yawn. 

"'Morning, sleepy-head," Susan whispered affectionately, before leaning over and brushing his cheek with a kiss. She rose, replaced the rosary in the jewellery box and went to the bathroom, quietly closing the door behind her. Upon stepping under the shower, Susan felt very rested, realising that she must have had a rather peaceful sleep. She reflected that her meditations on the lives of Jesus and his Mother must have had a wonderfully calming effect as she had mentally recited the prayers, for within fifteen minutes she had fallen asleep. She smiled when she remembered something Gran Susie once told her. It was said by the older generation that one's guardian angel would finish a rosary for you if you happened to fall asleep during the prayers. Sorry, guardian angel, Susan thought with a smile, I must have left a lot for you to finish last night.

Don blinked several times in an attempt to wake up, eventually massaging his lids vigorously, trying to shake the weariness and exhaustion he was experiencing. He knew why he felt so listless - he had been unable to return to a normal state of sleep following the dream he'd had. For long hours he had lain there, his arm securely wrapped around Susan, listening to the sound of her breathing as she slept. As irrational as it seemed, he had done so in order to convince himself that she was still with him, alive.

He inhaled sharply and then exhaled slowly, trying to ease the tension that seized him as he recalled the grisly details his subconscious had created the night before. It had seemed so alarmingly real – the office setting he now realised mirrored Susan's own old office in SoHo – with the homicide detectives and their forensic equipment, and finally the blood-soaked body on the floor. He had instantly recognized the shoes as being Susan's, and the thought that someone had done something so horrible to her made him physically ill. 

It's all my fears from what happened three years ago being dredged up, Don supposed. During the murder trial they had learned that Alex Wright had stabbed three people to death – people who might have been able to identify him. The thought that sometimes occurred to Don was what would have happened had Wright decided to use a knife instead of a heavy plastic bag to try to end Susan's life. The accompanying terrifying answer would come to him readily enough: _I'd have found her dead on that floor_.  

Sitting up, Don swung his legs over the side of the bed and decided it was best if he forgot about the dreams and put those disturbing thoughts and images away. He silently hoped Susan had forgotten about last night's episode as well, as he didn't want her to think he was unnecessarily worried about her. She'll think I'm turning into a nervous old biddy, he chided himself, and walked into the closet to choose his wardrobe for the day.

As the couple was finishing breakfast the telephone rang, and Susan got up to answer.

 "It's for me," she said, as she saw a familiar number displayed on the caller I.D. Picking up the phone she said: "Hi, Mom."

"Good morning, Susan," Emily greeted her daughter, "how are you?"

"I'm fine. And you?"

"Just fine, sweetheart. Calling to check in on you two. I knew Don was supposed to be flying back in on Friday; and with Dee's good news, I thought I'd have heard from you this weekend…" Susan thought she noted a hint of reproach in her mother's voice. 

"Don's safely home, Mom. Sorry I didn't call over the weekend. What's up?" 

"Well, I had lunch with Liz at the Club on Saturday…and I bumped into your father there."

_Here we go_, Susan thought. "I see… How is he?"

"He was there having lunch with Dan Lake and some other buddies. Retirement seems to be suiting him well."

Susan knew there was more to the encounter than her mother was letting on. "Did you talk with him long?" she asked.

"No…but he did say I was looking well, and that he was glad the incident with that con man didn't leave me financially ruined… _Then_ he actually told me if I was ever in trouble, in spite of what happened between us in the past, he'd be willing to help."

"You're kidding!" Susan was taken aback, remembering the bitter fights between her parents regarding finances that had taken place during the divorce settlement.

"Actually, he seemed quite genuine. I think your father is mellowing in his old age."

"Good Lord, mom, if Binky ever found out about what he said to you…"

"Binky has all she needs already and then some," Emily snapped, "and besides – I have no intention of taking Charley up on his offer. He made his choice a long time ago to be with her, and I'm perfectly capable without his help."

"Sure, mom," Susan said, but thought to herself:_ Either Dad's ' mellowing', or he's beginning to realise life with Binky can never be what it was like with you, before or after retirement._

"Anyway, with Dee and Russ deciding to get married," Emily continued, "I think we're all going to have to mellow a bit. Of course Dee is going to want Charley-Charles and the Trophy to be there. It's not going to be easy."

"I'm sure when the time comes, Dee will be certain not to put us at the same table."

"I'm so glad she's finally found someone again. She was so lonely after Jack died, and moving back here was ultimately the right thing for her to do."

"As I recall, at the time you thought it was a rash decision. But yes, it has been good having her back in New York, hasn't it?…Okay, Mom, I'm afraid I've got to run. There are things I need to prepare for the show today. See you Thursday for Thanksgiving. Love you."

"Love you too, Susan. 'Bye, dear, and give my regards to Don."

"So how's Mom?" Don asked as Susan hung up the phone.

"She's fine... She bumped into my Dad on the weekend when she and Mother were at the Club."

Don raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Was everything okay?"

"Apparently, Dad expressed his concern over what happened between her and Anton Riley. Said he'd be willing to help her out if she ever got into financial trouble."

"Really?"

"Oh, yes. My guess is he knows he's going to have to be dealing with all of us – including Mom – now that Dee is going to be married. With this pre-emptive move, I think he's trying to smooth out old hurts to avert any potential problems at the wedding."

"I think everything will be just fine, Susan," Don said, taking her hands in his.

***

At 9:15, after spending some time at their offices doing some final revisions on her notes for the show, Susan said goodbye to Don and hailed a cab, heading to the WOR studios at 41st and Broadway. When she arrived, she went up to the fifteenth floor and greeted Jed before entering the broadcast booth. A few moments later he poked his head in to announce that her guest for the day had arrived.

Susan extended her hand to Julia Palmer, president of a non-profit group called 'Senior Sentinels'. 

"Nice to meet you, Dr. Chandler," she said, shaking Susan's hand.

"Call me 'Susan'," Susan smiled, "if you're comfortable with 'Julia'". Requesting that a person use her first name was a courtesy Susan often extended to people she felt immediately comfortable with.

"Of course," Julia replied with a smile that revealed a set of perfectly straight teeth, and she sat down in the seat Susan offered her. Casually observing her guest, Susan noted that Julia appeared to be in her late thirties, with lively, dark eyes and neatly French-braided hair. 

"A lot of people get nervous when they're in front of a microphone," Susan told her, "but don't be. I like to tell my guests to pretend they're gabbing with their best friends, sharing the latest gossip. You'll find that the two hours go by quickly."

"Thanks, Susan. I do admit I am a bit nervous. I've done several public presentations on the subject of elder abuse, but never on radio."

"Jed will give us a countdown before we go on-air. I'll do a brief introduction, and we'll talk about what your organization does. There are some cases we can bring up that will serve as examples as to what people should look out for concerning cons, especially those that target seniors."

"Okay," Julia said, nodding in comprehension.

"After that, we'll have some commercials, followed by our call-in section. At that time, I'll introduce the caller to our audience, and we'll both have some input. Then we have more commercials, and then that's it."

"I'm game," said Julia as she slipped on a headset Susan handed to her, and gave her a thumbs-up.

The musical theme for the show played along with the recording that informed listeners of the program title, the telephone number for the call-in segment, and the address of the radio station. Jed's voice came through with the countdown, and Julia took a deep breath and waited for Susan to give her opening comments.

"You're listening to WOR 710 Talk Radio…Welcome to another instalment of 'Ask Dr. Susan'. I'm your host, Dr. Susan Chandler. With me for the program is president of 'Senior Sentinels', Julia Palmer. Today we're talking about the dangers our senior citizens face from con artists and scams. We'll discuss things you should be on the lookout for if you yourself are a senior, and for those of you that have close friends and relatives that are seniors, as well. Julia, thanks for being here today."

"It's good to be here, Dr. Susan."

"Julia, let's first fill our listeners in on what your organization does."

"We're a fairly new organization, Susan. _Senior Sentinels_ started up in 1999 in response to an initiative that the U.S. Vice President at the time proposed in order to protect seniors from telemarketing fraud and abuse. We're non-profit, and we recruit numerous volunteers to detect abuse, investigate when abuse is suspected, and just help get information out there regarding financial abuse of elders. We often work closely with other aid agencies, with the ultimate goal in mind of curbing the abuses we see."

"From what I understand, nationwide statistics on these scams that involve seniors are quite shocking, Julia."

"Susan, our research has shown that about sixty percent of all scams in the United States are perpetrated against citizens that are 65 years or older. Sixty percent! Seniors, especially those that live alone, make very appealing targets for con artists."

"Why is that?" Susan asked.

"Let's make it clear that it is not because our senior members of society are more trusting and gullible, or mentally incapable. Certainly that may be the case in some instances. But most of the time, these seniors are simply the victims of very clever, elaborate and devious schemes that many of us would fall for. Because some of these single seniors often don't have support systems around them like family or friends, these criminals think seniors will make easy targets – and they do."

"What different kinds of scams do you see most often?"

"The most common ones we see are bogus home or car repair schemes; mail order or telephone scams; and sometimes the most devastating of all, a sweetheart scam. Our listeners should know that _any _unsolicited phone call should be met with an immediate hang-up, and any such correspondence through the mail should be tossed in the trash. Sometimes these con artists will show up at the residence of a senior, and will tell them their home or car is in need of an unnecessary repair."

"What usually happens in scams that happen through the mail?" Susan asked.

"Well, sometimes a letter will arrive from a stranger offering large sums of money in return for a 'small' loan or some such 'lending' of finances. They might claim that they are from a foreign country, and have money in a US bank account that they cannot access unless someone pays some unheard-of tax for them. This kind of thing should definitely set off alarm bells."

"What are the statistics regarding how many of these schemes are reported?"

"Sadly, only about 1 in 14 financial elder abuse cases are ever reported, Susan. These seniors are victims of crimes that can be quite devastating not only financially, but emotionally and mentally. Many are also just plain embarrassed to tell someone they were taken in by a con artist. They fear that they will lose their independence as a result, so they stay silent."

"I see. Now, if someone suspects such an abuse has taken place, where can they get help?"

"First of all, if abuse is suspected, it should be reported. Now, sometimes it can be difficult to catch and prosecute the perpetrators because police resources are simply too occupied with other more serious criminal cases. If there is an emotional connection with the abuser, as is sometimes the situation, prosecutors have a hard time compelling the victim to testify. Finally, these con artists are crafty and deceptive. They routinely change identities, addresses, social security numbers – the whole nine yards – in order to escape detection."

"Now, by law," Julia continued, "all states are supposed to provide funding for legal services - free of charge – for people over the age of 60 when dealing with non-criminal matters. This is just one of many avenues available for seniors to get help. We at Senior Sentinels work hard to make sure that our elders know about these services."

Julia went on to list various aid agencies presently at the disposal of seniors, and the necessary contact information. She discussed recent legislation in the government that looked to halt elder abuse, and how Senior Sentinels was in the process of developing programs to train new recruits at the present time. 

"You mentioned earlier that these con artists routinely change identities and so on in order to avoid prosecution," Susan said.

"That's right," Julia nodded.

"Our listeners should know that even though this is often the case, they should not get discouraged. I want everyone to know that I have a personal connection to today's topic, as a family member was nearly a victim of a scam that could have left her in serious financial difficulty."

Susan took that opportunity to talk about the doubts she had about 'Eric Norton', and how her investigation of him with Chris Ryan's help turned up unsavoury information about his real identity - Anton Riley - and his activities. She also pointed out the fact that he was still at large, and gave an overall description of him in the hopes that someone knew of his whereabouts.

"If you or someone you know is in a relationship with someone who constantly requests money and/or access to personal property, have that person checked out," Susan said. "Julia, for those listeners out there with seniors in their care, what signs can they look for if they suspect financial abuse is taking place?"

"Well, Susan, we often point to things like sudden changes in a bank account or banking practices. People in banking professions especially should be wary of persons accompanying seniors when they withdraw large sums of money. If you live with a senior, it might be wise to request going over bank statements with them. Look out for unauthorized withdrawal of funds using an elder's ATM card, forged checks, and sudden drops in funds. If check-ups on seniors who live alone aren't that frequent, be on the lookout for the disappearance of valuable possessions, and – this is a big one – changes in a will. You'd be surprised how many families get the shock of a lifetime to find out grandma has left all her savings to someone they've never met before, all because that stranger got sweet on ol' granny, and convinced her to change her will." 

Jed's voice came un-obstructively through their headphones reminding Susan of an impending commercial break.

"Thanks for that advice, Julia," Susan said. "We'll be back after these brief messages."

            "Now we're going into our call-in section. You're free to answer questions anyone has about Senior Sentinels and so on," Susan said to Julia.

            "Sounds good to me."

            After a few minutes of commercials, they were back on the air with their first caller.

            "We have a caller from Queens," Susan announced, "Marshall, you're on."

            "Yes, hi, Dr. Susan; Julia," the caller said.

            "Hello, Marshall, what's your question?"

            "I've gotten those 'pan pal' sort of letters from Guatemala asking for money. How can I tell if it is really just a poor kid or a scam? If this person really needs help, I don't want to just ignore them… "

            "First of all, did you seek out this 'pen pal', as you call it, or did they write to you?" Julia asked.

            "Well, I sent my name to this Internet site that said it would match you up with people from Third-World countries who wanted to learn English better. They get to learn how to read and write by being pen pals to people in America."

            "So at what point did they start asking for money, Marshall, and more importantly, _how much_ have they been asking for?"

            "The last two letters they were saying that things are really bad – they have no money for food and clothes. They asked for $1000 US to help pay off some debts, too."

            "I'd say it was a scam," Julia said without hesitation. "The Internet has allowed a proliferation of these kinds of things, and I'd bet dollars to donuts your money will go straight to whomever set up that website, and _not_ to some poor kid in Guatemala."

            Another caller asked aboutletters received in the mail promising a cruise and a hotel in some tropical paradise providing he pay the airfare.

            "What you have to ask yourself is this," Julia said, "where did the sender of this 'great offer' get your name and address from? If you send them money for airfare, I guarantee you will never see that tropical paradise. And you won't get that airfare money back, either."

            Several more calls came in from people who had questions about possible fraudulent pieces of correspondence, and Susan allowed Julia in her expert judgment to handle them. One caller brought up the fact that while it seemed that males dominated the con artist profile, not all are men.

            "You've brought up a good point," Julia said. "While we have no definite statistics on the percentage of males in the fraud business, there are indeed female con artists. Don't just think it's men who do all they preying."

            "We've got a caller from Newark now," Susan said, "Jean, you're on."

            "I was wondering about that case that happened a few years ago involving that senator, Thomas Shipman, and his housekeeper. Would she be considered a con artist?"

            Susan remembered the case. "For those listeners who are unfamiliar with that case, former senator Thomas Shipman had a housekeeper who, from what I understand, was hoping he'd marry her. When he showed no interest in her, she began to slowly poison him, and even tried to frame him for the murder of his young lover. Julia, what's your take on that?"

            "I don't think that housekeeper was a con artist in the conventional sense. She wasn't pretending to be something she was not for the purpose of personal gain. But she was still trying to take advantage of her vulnerable employer. I want to make it clear that there are individuals who do indeed marry for money. The more dangerous of these will definitely try to expedite the dying process. So be on the alert for unusual attention elderly single parents are receiving from younger 'admirers'. Having an elderly parent change a will in favour of a new significant other is one thing, but when that significant other has a hand in prematurely ending that elderly parent's life, then we're in serious trouble."

            Once again, Jed's voice came through, warning of a commercial break.

            "Dr. Susan, let me just say that while majority of all fraud cases are indeed perpetrated against seniors, they are most certainly not limited to the elderly," Julia said in conclusion. "Everyone stands to take the advice we've given on today's show to heart."

            "Thanks for all your practical advice, Julia, and for being my guest today." Susan said.

            "It's been my pleasure, Dr. Susan."

"Before we end the show, I'd just like to once again give our listeners contact information for _Senior Sentinels_…"

After the show ended, Julia shook Susan's hand.

"Thanks for the opportunity to get this information out there, Susan," she said.

"You're welcome, Julia, though I should be the one thanking you. As I mentioned, this is a personal topic for me. Your being there to answer questions and give helpful advice was better than anything I might have been able to do. Let's just hope it sticks with our listeners."

"I really hope you nail that S.O.B., Anton Riley. He doesn't sound like the kind of person who is going to give up easily. Good luck on getting him behind bars."

"Thanks. Good luck with _Senior Sentinels_, too. It's filling a very much needed service."

***

"Hi, Dr. Susan," Dana said, as Susan arrived back at the offices at 12:30. "That was a great show you did today. I had no idea financial elder abuse was so bad."

"That makes two of us," Susan responded.

"I really hope someone catches that loser, Anton Riley."

"So do I," Susan sighed.

"Maybe you should have stayed in law! I'm sure you'd get huge satisfaction if you got to prosecute him."

Susan laughed. "They wouldn't let me near the case. It would be too much of a personal connection. Besides, I get a lot more satisfaction out of this practice than I ever thought I would."

"By the way," Dana stopped her employer, "some flowers were delivered to you just now."

"Flowers?"

"I took the liberty of putting them in your office. Your lunch just arrived as well. Both are on your desk."

"Thank you," Susan said, and noting the curious expression on Dana's face asked: "What?"

The amused smile that tugged at the secretary's lips curled up even higher. "Did you and Dr. Richards have a fight last night?" She asked with a raised eyebrow.

Susan laughed. "Oh, no! Nothing like that. Maybe he's sending me an early birthday present."

"I never knew he was such a romantic guy," Dana said. 

"Well, I don't know who else could have sent them. I'll give him a ring." Opening the door to her office, Susan was met with a lovely arrangement of white lilies. Picking up the receiver, she punched in the number for Don's office, knowing he was probably eating his lunch.

"Dr. Richards," he answered, between a mouthful of his meal.

"Hello, 'Dr. Richards'," Susan said playfully. "This is Mrs. Richards calling to thank her wonderful husband for the flowers he sent her today. But unfortunately, she is at a loss as to why they were sent. Is there some special occasion she has forgotten about?"

There was a beat of silence before Don responded.

"Susan, at the risk of sounding terribly unromantic, I didn't send you flowers today."

"Oh," Susan said, somewhat disappointed. "You didn't?"

"I know, I know, I'm an awful husband, sweetheart. A million pardons. But check and see if there's a card attached. I need to know who's hitting on my wife. Can't have competition from some amorous secret admirer."

"Oh, be quiet, you!" Susan teased. "Hmm….I don't see a card. Wait, there's something buried in here by the stems…"

There was another beat of silence.

"Susan?" Don asked. 

"Well, I know for sure you didn't send it," Susan said flatly. 

"What is it? Is there a card?" 

"Yes. It seems I've just been the victim of one of the many kooks out there with too much time on their hands."

"What does it say?" Don quietly demanded, an edge of anxiety in his voice.

"Nothing. Don't worry about it. It's just someone's idea of a stupid joke."

"For God's sake, Susan - " 

"Okay," Susan sighed, "I'll tell you. It says: '_Ask Dr. Susan if she thinks she has much longer to live'_. See? It's probably just some listener who gets off on writing junk like this. Look, it's something you've got to expect with the publicity of the radio show…"

Don realised the phone was clenched tightly in his fist. "I'm calling the police."

"You're not taking this seriously, are you?" Susan asked, almost feeling Don's emotional tension through the phone line. 

_You need to know that you're in danger._

The words spoken to Susan by the strange woman the day before suddenly thrust themselves to the fore. Could this possibly be a sign of what Claire was talking about? Susan thought. Doubting her original assessment that the message on the card was an empty and idle threat, she found herself agreeing to allow Don to contact the police.


	13. The Reoccuring Dream

**_Thursday Nov. 22 – early Thanksgiving Day _**

            Don's alarm over the threat directed at Susan had not yet passed. The past three nights had been restless and uncomfortable, spent in unpleasantly shallow bouts of sleep that only produced more disturbing visions. 

            He shot bolt-upright with a sudden yelp early Thursday morning awakening Susan, who in an uncommonly exasperated tone asked curtly: "Don, what _is it?!"_

            "Sorry," he murmured softly, squinting against the glare of the bedside light Susan snapped on.

            "You've been like this for the past three nights – tossing and turning…Something's wrong," she said, now with a little more concern than annoyance in her voice.

            _Another nightmare, Don thought to himself, disgusted with his inability to shake its grip of terror on him. It was similar to the dream that had first presented itself on Sunday night. The same body lay on the floor, covered by a blood-soaked sheet. This time, the sheet was being slowly raised to reveal the face of a blonde-haired woman - a woman he knew with sickening certainty would be Susan. The dark-blonde locks of hair, trailing out from under the sheet had in fact had been a giveaway. From the moment he saw them, Don knew he wouldn't need to see the face to confirm the identity of the body._

            "Don," Susan looked at her husband questioningly.

            "I'm – I'm not sure what's wrong," he lied. 

            "Look, if that threat that anonymous loony sent to me is bugging you still, it's okay to admit it."

            "You're right," he said, looking at her, "it _is_ bothering me…I think perhaps I just need to let it go." 

            "Good," Susan said, giving his arm a pat. "You know the police are going to do all they can to determine who sent it. I'm willing to let it go, too. Maybe this way we can both get a decent nights' worth of sleep."

            Don watched her settle back down under the comforter, relieved she had found an excuse for him. Being upset about the threat was indeed truthful, but he knew it wasn't the only thing behind his night terrors. He tried to fall asleep again, but found his mind kept turning over the details of Monday afternoon again and again.

After Don contacted the police on Monday afternoon, he'd marched up the hall to Susan's office and had a look at the flowers and card. When the police arrived, it was agreed upon by both parties that no details would be leaked to the press. The lilies and accompanying card had been taken as evidence by the detectives of the 22nd Precinct. 

Dana Brodie was questioned, and was asked to give a physical description of the person who made the delivery. Unfortunately, she was not able to recall any specific details. Quite simply, a man had arrived; said the flowers were for Dr. Susan Chandler; accepted the proffered tip, and went on his way. There was nothing about his manner, Dana insisted, that could have been interpreted as abnormal, suspicious or criminal. 

"We'll check the card for prints of course," Detective Sean Monahan said to Don and Susan. "These lilies had to have come from somewhere. I promise you we'll check out local floral shops. Can't imagine too many street vendors would be selling frail little flowers with the weather we've been having."

            The question that raised Don's heart rate a notch was when Det. Monahan asked Susan if she could think of anyone who would possibly want to harm her. 

            "I was an Assistant D.A. before this psychology practice, Detective," she answered. "I did put away my share of scum bags. However, none of them ever swore in front of all the world to hear that they'd 'get' me." Susan shrugged. "An act of revenge? It doesn't feel right to me, but I suppose it's worth checking out if anyone I helped convict has been paroled." 

            "Duly noted," Det. Monahan said, flipping his notebook closed.

They had asked Dana to cancel and reschedule their appointments for the rest of the afternoon, and let her know she had the remainder of the day off. She silently complied and went through the list of patients, mechanically informing them of the changes that had to be made. Sensing that she was upset, Susan quietly asked the secretary if anything was wrong. 

"I'm so sorry, Dr. Susan," she replied miserably. "If I had only gotten a better look at the guy, or paid more attention, I might have been more helpful. Now that creep is still out there, and the police have no clue what to look for." 

"Look, Dana," Susan said soothingly, "it's okay. You had no way of knowing. And after all, this may just turn out to be a stupid prank." Don had found himself choking back a rebuttal.

Now as he lay next to Susan, he knew the hopeful answer was that the threat was the product of a harmless attention-seeker. But his gut was telling him there was something – or someone – far more dangerous behind it.


	14. Woman of Heart and Mind

**Saturday, November 24th**

The evening of Susan's 36th birthday was raw and chilly with blowing of snow. Still, the handful of close friends and family that were invited all arrived rather punctually. 

Among the invitees were old friends Bobby Lake and his wife, Jenny; Mark and Betsy Greenberg; J.C. and Neeve; Nedda Harding; Dee and Russell, and both mothers, Elizabeth and Emily. 

Susan reflected that she was glad that her father, Charles, and step-mother Binky had once again opted to spend Thanksgiving in St. Martin. He had made the obligatory birthday call earlier in the day, and insisted on putting his second wife on the line to do the same. 

_Why do you even bother, Dad, _Susan thought to herself at the time, _you must know by now she doesn't really mean it when she wishes me a 'Happy Birthday', or any other compliment for that matter._ Still, Susan had been gracious about it, but was definitely relieved when she was able to hang up. A couple years earlier, Emily had confirmed what Susan already suspected: that Binky hated her. That Charles hadn't yet figured it out caused Susan to shake her head.

If a trip to St. Martin in the past few years had become a Thanksgiving tradition for Charles and Binky, it was fast becoming the tradition for Susan, Don, Dee and Elizabeth to celebrate at Emily's place in Rye. This year, Russell Schuster had of course, been accompanying Dee. 

The drive up to Rye that afternoon, given the holiday traffic, seemed to be taking forever and the silence between Don and Susan had made the length that much more noticeable. 

Susan had broken the silence. "You're thinking about whether or not we should tell them about the flowers and the threat, aren't you?" Don nodded wordlessly. 

"Me, too," Susan said. Don had continued to stare at the road ahead.

"Look," Susan continued, "we both know our families will be more than alarmed at what's happened. But you have to admit, there have been no further developments; no further threats. In fact, I'm honestly not worried about it."

Don looked carefully at her from the corner of his eyes. "Just because nothing further has happened since Monday doesn't mean a thing. What it means is we've got a very patient perpetrator who is working by his own twisted time-table. _That's_ what it means."

Susan had been a little taken aback by his curt response. Not wanting to further worsen the situation, she decided to leave the topic alone until he was in a more relaxed state.

***

Mark Greenberg, long time friend of Don's and a fellow psychiatrist, was sitting across from the fire in the living room, sipping chardonnay. In spite of the festive mood of Susan's birthday party, he found himself wondering why Don appeared so reserved. Clearly something was bothering him. Still, Mark had to admit to himself with a mental shrug, Don was putting up a good front. Maybe I'll ask him if he'd like to talk if I get the chance. Mark had been the one Don had professionally seen for a while after Kathy's drowning, so he knew there was a trust that went beyond the simple bond of friendship. He drained his glass and casually joined one of the conversations around the coffee table, while contemplating a way to get Don to talk to him.

"Nedda, you're not serious!" Susan was saying to her former mentor. "You're actually retiring?"

The older woman nodded soberly. "I'm going to be 72 next year," she said. "And the firm is going to be good hands…It would have been in _better_ hands if you'd decided on criminal law, Susan. You know, I still think 'Harding and Chandler' would have made a formidable team."

"And I still have the highest respect for your side of the court room, Nedda. You taught me a lot about the law process. I know a lot of prosecutors are going to be relieved that they won't have to oppose you ever again. So who's taking over from you, then?"

"Well, this is all un-official of course, but I plan to announce my retirement next month, and then hand the reigns over to Sam Ingram. Most capable fellow."

"I remember him," Susan said. "What are you going to do with your new-found freedom?"

"Relax! Take a vacation... Something fun. We'll see."

"So why is it you chose the District Attorney's office over a firm like Nedda's?" Mark asked.

"I guess I was young and idealistic," she replied. "I felt that I was best serving my fellow countrymen by putting dangerous offenders in prison. Of course, I left after two years to pursue psychology – but that's another story."

The various conversations drifted over a variety of topics. Not once was the subject of the flowers and the accompanying threat raised, for the only people to have any knowledge of them attending the party were still Don and Susan. By unspoken decision, it would be kept quiet from family and friends.

Neeve Kearny had wanted on several occasions to ask about the supposed encounter with the strange woman the previous Sunday. Seeing that Susan was obviously in high spirits and possibly over the weird events served to ease Neeve's apprehension. If Susan had gotten over it, there was obviously no reason to bring it up.

As the night wore on and the party wound down, guests started leaving.

"I've got to get this girl home," Russell said of Dee, as he collected their coats. "It was very nice meeting all of you this evening...Where's my future sister-in-law? Come over here, Susan." Susan accepted the peck on the cheek and the friendly embrace he offered. "I had a great time. Happy birthday once again, and I hope to see all you folks at our wedding!"

"'Bye, Susie," Dee hugged her younger sister, then whispered, "isn't he _great?"_

Susan stole a peek at Russell as he pulled on his gloves and winked in agreement. "He's a doll," she whispered back. It was a compliment she sincerely meant as she saw the two of them depart. He had been charming and highly attentive to Dee the entire evening without seeming like he was excluding the rest of the members of the party. Plus, he was very good-looking. 

"We're taking off too," J.C. said, taking Neeve's hand in his. "Susan; Don, we had a wonderful time. Good night."

"See you at mass tomorrow, Susan," Neeve said.

"Of course."

It was then that Nedda decided it was time to leave as well, noting that the weather wasn't going to get any better, and that meant that taxi service due to bad road conditions wouldn't be obliging. Bobby and Jennifer Lake; Emily and Elizabeth took that opportunity to say their farewells. 

"Susan, my dear, take care of that son of mine." Elizabeth said affectionately.

"I'll do my best Mother," Susan promised.

"Give your mother and father my love when you speak to them," Emily said to Bobby. 

"I will," he smiled. Nan and Dan Lake, his parents, had just departed for a few months in Florida.

In the shuffle of bodies putting on winter wear and shoes, Mark made his move to Don while his wife Betsy took her cue and retrieved their belongings. 

"I guess we're going to call it a night too," Mark said to Don. "Listen," he said, lowering his voice so as not to attract attention, "let's meet for lunch sometime next week, and you can tell me all about what's been eating at you."

Don looked surprised, but quickly recovered. "I'll call you," he said simply.

"Good. You never were good at keeping things from me for long."

"Here's your jacket, darling," Betsy held it out for Mark.

"Thanks, honey. Good night, you two."

The door closed behind them, and suddenly the house felt empty without the chatter of the several guests. The fire was burning down to the last few embers, and it crossed Don's mind to stoke it up again, but reconsidered after noticing the look of tiredness on Susan's face. 

"You look worn out," Don said

"Thanks," Susan said, making a face.

"Tell you what. Why don't you go upstairs, have a nice long soak, and then I'll give you a massage. It's been a difficult and busy week."

"I think I just might take you up on that offer," Susan smiled, and slipped off to the master bathroom.

Twenty minutes later, Don was gently kneading her shoulders and neck. Slowly and cautiously he slipped the caftan she was wearing down over her shoulders, and ran his fingers over the scars on her back.

"Mmmm…what are you doing?" Susan asked.

"These scars are really starting to fade," he observed.

"Really?"

"Yes…They're getting smooth now, not as noticeable..."

That night three years ago…the terrible pain that hit her as she used the razor sharp shards of broken crystal to cut through the heavy plastic bag Alex Wright had sealed her in…Feeling the sudden hot rush of blood from her shoulders and back, knowing she'd sliced herself open badly, but comforted by the fact that air was also seeping through, allowing her shallow breaths. 

Then Don had arrived, taken stock of the situation and released her from that plastic prison. He'd called an ambulance immediately after seeing how much blood she'd lost as it had pooled on the office floor. He'd applied pressure to the wounds as best he could while waiting for the proper authorities to arrive. 

Susan was absolutely adamant that she reach Dee right away to tell her that Alex was a murderer and that she was his next target. The paramedics and the police that finally came persuaded her to get treatment first, that she wasn't doing anyone any favours if she keeled over. The bruised temple – a relatively minor injury was attended to, as well as the multiple lacerations that required stitches. Doctors at the hospital were concerned about the blood loss, and she was given a blood transfusion. She was then told she should just take it easy for the next few days. Susan knew she wouldn't be able to take it easy until she knew Dee was safe and Alex Wright was in custody. Frantic as she contacted Dee on the cruise, Susan somehow managed to convince her that Alex was a deranged murderer. 

When the call came in the next day that Dee had positively identified Alex trying to board the ship and had been arrested, Susan had been greatly relieved, and drifted off into a very satisfying sleep.

"If you hadn't been there," Susan murmured to Don.

"Shhh…I know," Don said, not wanting at that moment to consider the alternative.

The office desk key in that had been in her pocket then...

"I've often wondered what I might have done if I hadn't knocked that vase over."

"It was a 'happy accident'," Don said.

"You know, I had the key to my desk in my pocket…I didn't put it back on the key ring like I normally did…Sometimes I think I might have been able to snake my hand in there, pull the key out, and then used it to puncture holes in the bag."

"Let's not think about that now," Don said, kissing the back of her neck.

"I have something I want to tell you," she said suddenly.

"What is it?"

"It's about what happened last Sunday, when you said I was so out of it."

"What happened?"

"There was this woman in church. Older lady. I've never seen her before, but she called me by name, and said she had a message for me."

"What kind of message?" An edge of distress was creeping into Don's voice.

"She said that I was in grave danger."

"Why didn't you tell me this sooner?" Don demanded. "Further, why didn't you tell Detective Monahan about this woman? Susan, don't you realize that this woman could be the same person who sent the threat?!"

"I really don't think-"

"Oh come on, Susan…a woman you've never seen before comes and tells you you're in danger, and then the next day you're threatened. What is she, some kind of psychic? No, I'll tell you what – you were right. The sender - this woman - _is a crazy attention-seeker – the kind that will go to any lengths to get noticed. How are you to know her next step isn't to act out on her 'prediction'?!"_

"Don! Really, I think you're overreacting."

"Am I? Susan, you know nothing about this woman. It can't be a coincidence that you were sent a threatening note after she warned you. Make no mistake: we've found the sender. And when next she makes contact with you, it will be the last, because a minute later I'll see to it that she's arrested! I'm calling Detective Monahan first thing in the morning, and you're going to tell him every detail of your encounter with that woman."

Susan initially felt hurt and disappointed at Don's blow-up. But as she tried to fall asleep that night, doubts about Claire began to eat at her. Was the woman truly a danger, or had she just _sensed_ danger? Truly, the advice she'd received about prayer had had a positive effect. It was the only reason she hadn't been totally and completely distressed by the flowers and the threat. She'd been calmed by silently meditating. It was Don who continued to be haunted by Monday's events. And now this new revelation about Claire had gone over very badly.

Susan silently hoped that Don would be able to find some peace as he slept; the past week had been restless enough for the two of them, due to his tossing and turning. She wondered if there were some things he, too, needed to get off his chest, or if he had gotten it all out in his earlier outburst. 

She was just drifting off to sleep when she heard soft moaning coming from a slumbering Don. The sting of his angry words now subsided, she drew closer to him and asked softly: "Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

"Oh Susan," he choked, not fully awake and in a sad, subdued voice, "you died."


	15. Same Situation

**Monday, November 26**

Detective Sean Monahan was not available on Sunday morning when Don tried to contact him, so it was on Monday when he was finally able to talk to him.

"I tried you yesterday," Don said, "but you weren't available all day."

"I try to keep most of my Sundays as free as possible to spend with my family, Dr. Richards," Detective Monahan informed him, "that way I can at least try to convince myself I haven't been a neglectful husband and parent."

"There's been a development in the threat involving my wife that I'd like investigated," Don continued cautiously.

"I see," Det. Monahan said. "What is it?"

"My wife says she was approached by a woman last week at St. Patrick's Cathedral after the ten-fifteen Mass. She says this woman told her she was in grave danger, and then that the woman took off somewhere."

"And you think this encounter and the threat your wife received the following day are somehow connected?" Det. Monahan asked. He thought swiftly about how the investigation was progressing. 

Of the local floral shops canvassed in the past week, none could verify that they had organized and delivered that particular arrangement of lilies to a Dr. Susan Chandler. Of course none of them would have sent flowers with such a message written on a card, either. 

The lab results on the flowers and the card turned up nothing except for the fingerprints of Dr. Susan Chandler and those of her secretary, Dana Brodie. Dr. Richard's prints had not been there. Det. Monahan mused that Don had been smart enough not to touch either item. 

Det. Monahan had learned during the course of the week that Dr. Richards also had his masters' in criminology, which probably meant he must be turning this case over and over in mind, trying to find a solution.

"Well, detective, I honestly think it is too much of a coincidence that Susan was told by some odd lady that she was in danger, and then had that possibility made real by a death threat the next day," Don said in answer to Monahan's question.

"I'll level with you, Dr. Richards," Det. Monahan stated. "Right now, we've got very little in the way of leads to go on. Your wife was a prosecutor for a little over two years, and some of the perps she put away, except for some youths that were sentenced while she was working in the juvenile courts, are pretty much where they were when she left the D.A.'s office. None have been paroled recently. While it's not impossible to orchestrate something like a death threat from inside prison, we're wasting our time checking out inmates. The same goes for parolees."

"Yes, Susan thought that would be grasping at straws, anyway," Don sighed.

"This woman you say she met: did your wife get her name?"

"If she did, she didn't tell me. I made Susan promise she'd call you with the details today."

"Fine. Tell her I'll be expecting it."

***

As she made her way to the radio station on Monday, Susan thought back to the previous morning. She had been contemplating whether or not she should broach the subject of Don's sleep-talking as she was getting ready for church. That morning at breakfast he had softened his attitude and admitted to her that maybe he had been a bit harsh the night before. But he was adamant about wanting to get to the bottom of the situation as soon as possible. 

Susan had looked out for, but didn't see Claire after Mass. Her instincts were still telling her the woman was not involved with the intimidating message.

The phone lines opened up for the duration of Susan's show to talk about whatever difficulties her listeners might be having. Several callers, she noticed, were still eager to discuss the 'Senior Sentinels lady', and scams in general.

Thanks to her show, some callers informed her that they had hung up on suspect telemarketers. Another reported that they'd checked with the Better Business Bureau before investing in something, and it turned out to be a scam. 

One that pulled on Susan's heartstrings was a call a woman made to say that she and other family members were cut out of their mother's will. When the mother died, the family discovered she had left all her wealth to a new boyfriend who'd been milking her for thousands of dollars leading up to her passing.

"Dr. Susan," the caller said mournfully, "he took off before the body was cold to some tropical paradise and never spoke to the family again. I know we will never be able to prove it, but we believe he allowed Mom to die after she suffered a heart attack. She'd been prone to heart trouble, and when she had that final attack, we think her so-called boyfriend purposely neglected to call an ambulance until he knew it was too late."

 Susan once again warned her listeners to be on the alert for any attention an elderly single parent might be receiving from a younger admirer. 

"It may be innocent, but in rare cases, it can be deadly," she said.

Once again, Susan thought about Anton Riley, and how far he might have gone to get his hands on her mother's money. She shuddered at the notion that he might have actually harmed Emily. A sudden, chilling thought occurred to Susan: Could it be possible that _Anton Riley_ was behind the threat directed at her? 

The very morning I discussed Riley, those flowers showed up, Susan realised. Maybe he's upset I'm exposing him further. It was definitely something worth bringing up with Det. Monahan… 

Late that night, Susan found it difficult to fall asleep. Don's own slumber was fitful, and she finally gave up trying. After about an hour of simply staring into the darkness, she suddenly knew what was wrong. Her subconscious warning bell was ringing. It was a warning she was acquainted with, letting her know that there was something she ought to have paid attention to that had happened earlier in the day. The problem, Susan thought ruefully, is that I'm not quite sure what it is.

Around three in the morning, it dawned on her that she might once again recite the rosary. It worked the last time, she reasoned, and a welcome sleep came at last a half-hour later.


	16. Conversation

**Tuesday Nov. 27**

In the cab ride to her office following Tuesday's program, Susan cast her thoughts back to the call she had put in to Det. Monahan the previous day. She wondered if he somehow thought she was crazy when she related the meeting with Claire. If he did have those thoughts, he certainly hadn't revealed them. Susan had told him everything she could remember about the short conversation between herself and the older woman. 

            "Let me get this straight, Dr. Chandler," he'd said. "She told you she thinks the danger you're in stems from something that happened in the past?"

            "That's what she said, Detective," Susan confirmed.

            "Any idea what she meant by that?"

            "I've been trying to think of it myself, but aside from what we discussed earlier about convicts and parolees that might have a beef with me, I'm drawing a blank."

            "I see…" Det. Monahan mused. "Listen, I know about what happened three years ago with Alexander Wright…"

            "Yes…" Susan drew a breath.

            "…Mr. Wright was a quiet man, but nevertheless a highly respected and very powerful man in a behind-the-scenes sort of way. I need to know if you think it's possible he's got a fan out there who would want to even the score. Or that perhaps he's pulling this scare-tactic stunt from the inside to torment you…"

            "You want to know if I think it's possible? I suppose anything is possible, Detective. Do I think it's _likely_? No. I don't think Alex has the kinds of friends who would take the time and effort to get back at me. In fact, aside from acquaintances with business and the various charitable boards on which he served, Alexander Wright wasn't extremely close to anyone. That all came out in the trial. He was very reserved. Charming, to be sure, but reserved; private...No. Neither a 'friend' of Alex Wright nor Alex himself is doing this. That's my gut reaction, Detective."

            "Okay…Thanks for your personal take. Now I want you to level with me about Claire, herself. Forget what she _said_. I want to know what your opinion – your _ professional_ opinion – is about her behaviour and overall appearance."

            "If you want to know if I think she's crazy, I don't. In fact she seemed initially reluctant to share with me the things she did. She was unsure of how I would react, so her behaviour tended towards a kind of tentative and careful demeanour."

            "Your husband seems to think it isn't a mere coincidence that Claire gave you a verbal warning and that the next day a written one showed up at your offices."

            "I'm aware of what Don thinks," Susan said, "I just happen to think he's wrong."

            She took that opportunity to bring up her radio show and her suspicions that an obsessed listener could be responsible, and that she had put the word out that Anton Riley was known to be operating as a con man the same day the threat arrived. It was Detective Monahan's turn, however, to reject a theory.

            "Let's for argument's sake say Riley _was _listening to the show last Monday. He hears you talking about scams, and he hears you describing how he came on to your Mom and then tried to get her to fork over some big dough. Your show is two hours long. The flowers arrived before you even got back to your office. Unless this guy got pissed off at you and sent those flowers off pronto, it's pretty doubtful he had enough time to plan it and pull it off. I think we're wasting our time with Riley, Dr. Chandler."

            "I don't know what else to suggest to you then, Detective. I've told you all I can about Claire; what she looks like…if you're lucky, you'll find that one particular 'Claire' registered as a parishioner at St. Pat's."

The conversation ended shortly after, with Susan promising to call Det. Monahan if she thought of anything else that could be helpful. It wasn't until a little later that Susan realised she had omitted one part of last Sunday's conversation – the part where Claire told her a dying man had cursed her. Good thing I didn't, Susan mused, or Detective Monahan would really think that woman is crazy.

Don cleared his lunch schedule in order to have a bite to eat with Mark Greenberg. They met at Kennedy's on 57th, the Irish pub they'd dined at on previous occasions. Once the niceties were out of the way, Don decided it was time to cut to the chase.

"I suppose I'm glad you realised something was bothering me at the party Saturday night, Mark," he started, "so here goes - and please understand that this is private information - last week Monday, Susan received some flowers at the office, and buried in the stems was a note that said: _'Ask Dr. Susan if she thinks she has much longer to live'._"

"Do you have any idea who sent it?" Mark leaned closer across the table, concern crossing his face.

"No. The police are investigating. They haven't had any solid leads as of yet. But it's not just the threat, Mark. There's more…" Mark nodded, encouraging him to go on.

"I've been having these dreams in the past week…nightmares, really. Terrible, bloody dreams where Susan's the victim. I've dreamed on a few occasions now that she's lying dead on the floor of her old office, covered with a sheet and I've been called to identify her. Then on the night of her party, I dreamed it was her funeral, and everything – her body and the coffin -  everything was covered with flowers, the same kind of flowers she was sent with the threat. It's really been affecting my sleep, and I know Susan suspects something is wrong." 

"Do you know why you've been having these dreams?" Mark looked directly into his friend's troubled eyes.

Don lowered his glance and his face took on a reflective expression. "Yes," he said finally, "I think I do...I'm terrified of losing her, Mark… _terrified_. I just wouldn't be able to tolerate losing another spouse – not after what happened to Kathy."

"Have you ever told Susan about this fear?" Mark asked quietly.

"No way," Don answered swiftly, with a negative shake of his head. 

            "I think perhaps you _should_ tell her," Mark said. "Get it into the open. She needs to know your behaviour over the past week is founded in this fear. And you need to admit to yourself that with the threat that was sent, it is no longer an _irrational_ fear..."

***

When Susan got back to the office, Dana informed her that the one o'clock client had cancelled the appointment. Noting that Don was out, she quietly closed the door to her own office to make a phone call. Since the day before, she had been thinking about the call during her show regarding the deceased elderly woman whose boyfriend took off with her wealth. The daughter had seemed genuinely upset and distressed about what had happened, as anyone undoubtedly would be if a stranger were able to claim an inheritance. 

Too bad they didn't think of contesting the changes their mother made in the will, Susan thought sadly, but I guess the 'boyfriend' must have left the picture very quickly, probably just as quickly as when Anton Riley left when Mom told him to beat it.

The more Susan thought about the distressed woman's situation, the more it caused old and nagging concerns to resurface. Susan was now convinced that call was what set off the warning bells in her subconscious the night before. 

"I've put this off long enough," Susan thought to herself, and dialled Chris Ryan's number.

Ever cheerful to hear from her, Chris greeted her enthusiastically, but Susan came directly to the point of the call.

"The police wouldn't be bothered with my concerns. They simply won't see the validity, and they definitely won't want to waste the manpower on my suspicions…so, once again, I need you to do some investigating for me."

"Sure, Susie…"

Outlining the exact nature of her suspicions, she cautiously explained to Chris what she needed from him.

"So, from henceforth we refer to this person as 'the Subject'. I can't risk them or anyone else knowing you're poking around – can't risk giving them an opportunity to cover up. I want a deep investigation, now. I want to know _everything_ you can find from this person's past – everything. Things like where they grew up; the kinds of parties they attended; financial history; the kinds of people they mingled with…"

"Got it. Everything I can find out about 'the Subject'. You sure you want me to do this, Susie? And more importantly, what do you want me to do if I find out some seriously…illegal doings? The consequences could be pretty devastating…"

"I know," Susan sighed. "I guess we'll cross that bridge when we get to it, Chris. But if I get definite proof that our 'Subject' actually _has_ hurt other people, I'll do everything in my power to make sure they will never hurt the people I love, or anyone else, ever again."


	17. Night in the City

**Tuesday Afternoon/Night**

Don returned to the offices around quarter to three with much on his mind. He knew Mark was right. To continue without admitting his fears to Susan would be unfair to her and to himself. We'll go out to dinner tonight, Don decided. We'll talk then. He paged Susan and made his suggestion. 

"Where would you like to go?" She asked.

"When was the last time we were at Palio?"

"Not for a while," Susan answered.

"Palio it is, then." He hung up, and then called to make a reservation at the chosen restaurant.

They'd had their first date there, following Don's appearances on _Ask Dr. Susan._  Susan had later discovered that first date, as platonic as it had been, had occurred on the fourth anniversary of Kathy's death. Even so, she had sensed that night when she returned home that something was happening. 

She remembered Don's exact words as he had walked her to her apartment door and saw her in safely. He had taken her hand and said: "_I think I said thank you for the pleasure of your company at the beginning of the evening. I say it again, even more emphatically._" Then, he had looked at her seriously and concluded by saying: "_Don't be afraid of a compliment, Susan. You are, you know._" He had then bid her good night and departed. It was such a simple comment, but loaded in its implications. Don had seen so clearly through the emotional walls she had so carefully built up after Jack's betrayal, and yet Susan had stubbornly tried to discount what she was feeling. 

Later, during their courtship, Don revealed that it was during that first radio show and definitely that night at Palio that he first began to fall in love with her.

Located in the Theatre District, the couple would sometimes plan to dine at Palio either together or with friends and take in a show afterwards. Richly paneled with European bog oak, the ground-level bar was about a 30 by 30 by 24-foot high space. Susan and Don always admired the mural Neo-Expressionist Sandro Chia had painted over the dado, depicting the medieval Palio horse race, as well as the black and white marble floor resembling the pattern of a chess board. 

Upon arriving, Don confirmed the reservation and the pair ascended to the main dining room via the private elevator. On the walls of the dining space hung hand-painted heraldic symbols representing the 17 contrade, or wards of the City of Siena, and were definitely complimentary to the overall Sienese theme of the restaurant. 

The maître d' took their drink orders, and swiftly returned with a bottle of Chianti that the couple decided they would share. The aroma of great Northern Italian cuisine tempted their senses, quickly reminding them why they returned so often to Palio. 

Don decided on a favourite entrée, Dover sole, while Susan decided to sample one of the house specials, the artichoke ravioli. When the maître d' removed their menus, Susan asked Don how his day was.

He took a few moments before answering, slowly sipping the wine. He had to collect his thoughts, and present them to Susan as best he could in order for her to truly understand what he was thinking and feeling. 

"You probably noticed I was out of the office for a while this afternoon," he started.

"Yes…Dana told me you had a lunch meeting of some sort." Susan's voice didn't betray any curiosity or significant interest regarding his absence.

"Well, I went to Kennedy's to meet with Mark…"

"Oh, really…" 

"We talked over some things, and he suggested I come clean about them."

"And what are these 'things'?" Susan asked curiously.

"This…this is going to sound terribly selfish," Don faltered awkwardly, "but…I don't want you to be the one that goes first in this marriage."

Susan felt cut to the heart. "Oh, Don…" she said tenderly, reaching out for his hand and holding it as she spoke. "You know I can't guarantee that I won't die before you do…"

"I know that…and I know that you also lost someone you loved – Jack Harriman – but I need you to know that it would kill me if something happened to you."

"If this has anything to do with that damn threat-" Susan began to protest.

"No," Don interjected, "it isn't that alone. You see, I've been having these dreams…awful, terrible dreams where I find out you've been killed. I don't want to have to experience that for real. Ever."

"So this is what's been bothering you," Susan said softly. "The threat combined with those nightmares was forcing you to face your natural fears of possibly losing someone you care for deeply…"

"Namely you," Don added. 

"It's not selfish of you to not want to lose me. If I could promise you anything, it would be that. But know that I also don't want to lose _you._"

Don nodded, and squeezed her hand softly.

The rest of the evening was spent discussing many various topics, from when they would take the trip to Italy that Don had given Susan for her birthday, to what Elizabeth would do when she finally had a grandchild to call her own.

"She'd take a million-and-one pictures and make sure all her friends knew every detail about the poor kid's life," Don laughed.

"Mother couldn't resist taking me aside at the party and mentioning that I was turning 36 – the bitter end to the really fertile years of a woman's life. All very kindly, of course," Susan smiled.

When the food arrived, they agreed that it was highly favourable, and they both felt that they were better able to enjoy the meal after clearing the air as they had done. 

Upon leaving the dining room, they rode down the elevator and crossed the checkered floor, passing the full horseshoe-shaped bar. One patron sat hunched over his drink, but turned slightly as Don and Susan approached.

"Hello, Dr. Richards," he spoke in a low voice.

Startled, Don looked up. The look of surprise on his face was replaced by recognition, then by a stony expression.

"What are you doing in New York?" Don demanded with quiet intensity.

            "Business," the conservatively dressed man responded evenly. "And this must be the missus," he continued. "Aren't you going to introduce us? She's lovely."

Susan noted the tension in the air and the hostility that Don was exuding. She got the notion that it was some kind of stand-off, and decided to remain silent.

"New York is a big city," Don said heavily. "So big, in fact, that I doubt we'll meet again. In fact, I don't want to see you again, ever. Stay away from me and my wife. Understand?"

"Don't flatter yourself, doc," the man responded scornfully, "you think I'd come all this way just to make _your _life miserable? And let's not forget two simple, little words uttered by the jury: 'not guilty'. Stop treating me as if I were a criminal and I'll try not to take offence to your obvious dislike of my person." Catching the look of puzzlement on Susan's face, he continued. "You know, the authorities had a flawed case to begin with! So they hire this big-shot shrink/criminologist to try to make up for their own ineptitude. Well, you couldn't pin that killin' on me, and no one ever will. And don't worry. I think the Big Apple stinks. More like an apple _core_. I'm not going to be doing business this way again." He threw some bills on the table and stalked out.

Susan noticed Don had made fists and had a tightly-clenched jaw. She waited for him to explain about the little altercation.

"Dominic Morgan, defendant in the Georgia case. And I'm starting to wonder exactly what his 'business' here in New York really is."


	18. Start Spreading the News

**Tuesday night, cont.**

Don slipped his arm around Susan's as they exited Palio. It was a protective gesture that she decided to accept without any objection. Clearly the encounter with Dominic Morgan had upset Don deeply. 

"So, that's all you're going to say about Mr. Dominic Morgan? That he was the defendant in Georgia?" she asked him quietly.

"First thing tomorrow I'm getting on the line with the Fulton County District Attorney's Office. I have a feeling they'll be interested in knowing what Morgan's doing here in New York…"

"You suspect he's up to no good?"

"Susan, the guy killed his wife, or at least was complicit in her killing. We might not have been able to prove it in court, but he's still guilty. Right now he's so smug; thinks he's gotten away with it. He thinks he's safe. I'm not buying that line about his being here on 'business'. The only business that needs to be taken care of is the unfinished business having him convicted."

"You think he followed you up here?"

"I raked his reputation over the coals in court down in Georgia. He's a liar and a manipulator. He's also prone to violent, jealous rages. He can't have been too pleased with what I had to say about him."

"Be careful, Don. What Morgan said to you back there was true: the jury found him not guilty. Sometimes, you've just got to let it go. We both know this."

"I know that…but he's up to something. And I'll be willing to bet that it's nothing good..."

As they hailed a cab and climbed in, they failed to notice that the defendant they had just been discussing slip inside a phone booth across the street. Watching the cab pull away from the curb, he placed a quick call.

***

**Wednesday, November 28.**

The next morning, Susan decided that more details about Dominic Morgan and the events in Georgia needed telling. As they were eating breakfast, she decided to broach the subject with Don.

"We never really talk about cases you've been called to testify at, first because it's not professionally appropriate, and second because you've been doing it by yourself long enough that you don't need my input. But I want to hear everything you can tell me about what happened in Georgia." 

Don nodded. "That 'not guilty' verdict was a blow to the prosecution and to Morgan's in-laws. Now, we knew Morgan had been arrested once during a domestic 'dispute'. Seems he suspected that his wife, Sylvia, was cheating on him. Got him in a rage, gave her a black eye. She didn't press charges and he was released… The thing is, _we_ were pretty sure Morgan was cheating on _her_… Insecure bastard beats his wife and suspects her of infidelity when he himself is up to no good… Problem is, we found scant evidence of there being another woman."

"So what happened? Besides the domestic incident, why was Morgan a suspect?"

"You know as well as I do that police always look to the family first when something like this happens. Sylvia was filing for divorce. She'd called her lawyer, and was getting the process going. Then when she was found dead in their home of a single gunshot wound to the chest, authorities were initially unconvinced of the evidence there that suggested a robbery. One homicide detective testified at trial that it looked too staged." Don frowned in disgust. "But the defence was able to make mince-meat of that testimony…"

"What else was there? Did you have a weapon? Motive? So far it's not sounding like the prosecution had a strong case." Susan shook her head.

"Morgan's a prominent Atlanta businessman," Don responded. "He'd have lost a bundle in a divorce settlement. Also, the murder weapon was a .38 calibre. It was never found, but Morgan held a permit for a .38. He claimed that it was stolen from his car earlier in the month that the murder took place, and the police had a record of the theft report as 'proof'. He made the claim that whomever stole the weapon from his car glove compartment would also have had access to information like his home address."

 "The insinuation, of course, is that the person in possession of that gun is also the one who broke into the home and shot Sylvia," Susan mused.

"Right," Don nodded ruefully. "But with his wife dead, not only does Morgan not have to pay through the nose with a settlement and alimony, but he gets to collect on her life insurance, too."

"So you had no weapon, and the motive is still a bit far-fetched. I'm a little surprised it went to trial." 

"The problem is his alibi for the night of the murder stinks."

"Oh?" Susan asked with raised eyebrows.

"Guess where Morgan claims he was on the night of the murder? New York! He claims he was here for a business dinner, but that he came down with a mild case of food poisoning and stayed in his hotel room the whole night. When eventually pressed to provide the name of his business party to verify his story, he was unable to."

"So he was lying about having a business meeting…but was he actually at the hotel like he claimed to be?" Susan questioned.

"Yes. He'd booked a reservation and checked in, then checked out the next morning after being contacted by authorities in Georgia that Sylvia had been killed."

"But that leaves a very small window of opportunity. Did the prosecution try to sell the notion that Morgan doubled back to Atlanta, shot his wife, then caught a red-eye _back_ to New York just to check out of the hotel the next morning?"

"No…  What the prosecution wanted to do was plant the idea that Morgan planned his wife's death, but did so knowing he would be the main suspect. My job was to show that he was jealous and upset that Sylvia was filing for a divorce – upset enough to want her dead - which I think I did quite effectively."

"Of course you did," Susan smiled affectionately.

"The police actually believe he hired someone to do it," Don continued, "but Morgan knew he'd need an alibi just in case. But why he had such a flimsy one always perplexed us. There are still a few pieces to the puzzle missing that the prosecution hoped to find before it went to trial. Unfortunately, that didn't happen."

"I have to say if I was the one working on that case, I'd have some serious reservations about prosecuting Morgan with the evidence available," Susan said. "Now you mentioned they felt Morgan had a girlfriend…"

"Yes. He always went alone on business trips. But the ones especially to the north-eastern states like here, Jersey and Connecticut were _always overnight, if not for a few days. Investigators combed through his phone records – home, business and mobile phone – but nothing out of the ordinary showed up. All the calls made from those points were legit. However, he __was stupid enough to charge flowers to his credit card once. But that was hardly enough evidence to bring to court, even though Sylvia's family swears Morgan never once sent her flowers, and if he did, they'd have heard about it."_

"_Flowers," Susan murmured in a troubled tone. "Don, you don't think – " _

"Oh, no…" Don whispered, images of the lilies from an unknown sender suddenly springing into both their minds.

***

At around ten o'clock in the excessively extravagant Bedford Hills home of Charles and Binky Chandler, the ringing of the telephone was heard. After two rings, a member of the household morning staff informed Binky that the call was for Charles. 

"Tell whoever it is that he's resting," Binky snapped, "we've only just gotten back from our holiday last night."

"Of course, Mrs. Chandler, but it does sound rather important," the maid insisted.

"All right, _I'll take it," Binky sighed. "This is Mrs. Chandler speaking…"_

"Oh, hello, Mrs. Chandler," came a well-bred male voice, "Mitchell Fletcher here. We've met before; I'm your husband's attorney. I was rather hoping I could speak to him this morning."

"I'm afraid he's suffering the effects of jet-lag, Mr. Fletcher," Binky informed him testily. "We flew in from our Thanksgiving holiday in St. Martin only last night."

"Of course," Fletcher said with understanding in his voice. "Charles did say he would be out of the country for a few days. You see, he'd contacted me last Wednesday about some legal matters, and I'd like him to review the paperwork before we make it official. I can either fax or courier it to him today, if he so desires."

"You may fax it, Mr. Fletcher, and I'll be sure he sees it."

"Please understand, Mrs. Chandler, that these _are confidential papers I'm sending…" Fletcher seemed to be considering his options. "Perhaps courier might be a more prudent decision given the private nature of the papers' contents."_

"Mr. Fletcher, I can guarantee that only my husband will see the fax," Binky said, suddenly solicitous. 

"Have Charles call me as soon as he's had a chance to look at what I've drawn up for him. Tell him that if it suits him, I don't see a reason why we couldn't settle everything today."

"Certainly, Mr. Fletcher," came Binky's contrite reply. "I wouldn't dream of letting such an important decision languish due to my own forgetfulness."

When she had hung up, Binky wondered what legal documents Fletcher had been referring to. What she did know was the papers in question that had been drawn up by Charles and his lawyer had the distinct absence of any input from her, and that realisation troubled her greatly.

***

Immediately following their conversation about Dominic Morgan, Don contacted both Det. Sean Monahan and authorities in Fulton County, Georgia. Don informed the Fulton County prosecutor of the flowers and the threat sent to Susan, and of the unpleasant encounter with Morgan at Palio the night before. 

While everyone believed it was a hasty conclusion to draw, they all felt there was enough merit in Don and Susan's suspicions to look into what Morgan was up to in New York. 

Det. Monahan was unable to think of a more compelling reason why Morgan would choose to threaten Susan and not Don. It seemed a bit much just to unnerve him. After all, he was found not guilty, and it would be foolish to make trouble by messing with the expert witness from his own murder trial. However, he had to admit that it was a small possibility that the former defendant was pulling this stunt, and was looking forward to what this potential lead might turn up. 

"They're going to be putting out an APB for Morgan," Don informed Susan, after finishing his conversation with Det. Monahan. " 'Wanted for questioning in an ongoing investigation'"

"That's good," she said. "But it probably means news of the threat isn't going to kept under wraps for long…"

"Unfortunately," Don agreed. 

"Well so far it's only us, and authorities here in New York and the ones in Fulton County that know. Let's hope it stays that way for at least a little longer…" Susan looked suddenly at her watch. 

"Now, I've got to be on my way or Jed's going to blow a gasket… But Don, I hope we're not simply jumping to conclusions here. I know you want to see an end to this as soon as possible, and so do I. But _if _ Morgan is innocent in both his wife's murder and in threatening me, he's really not going to be a happy individual." 

"I know," Don said. "So let's keep our fingers crossed something happens so we get to the bottom of this."

"See you at the office after the show," Susan said, kissing his cheek.

"'Love you."

"'Love you, too."

After end of the program for the day, the station receptionist stopped Susan on her way out. 

"Don't leave just yet, Dr. Susan," she said. "Some flowers were just delivered for you."

Susan stopped cold. _Oh God_, she thought with alarm, _what now?!_

"I just set them down in one of the offices – I'll get them."

"No!" Susan almost screamed, then lowered her voice. "Don't touch them…Just tell me: are they white lilies?"

"I - I don't know, I don't really know much about flowers," came the startled reply. "But they are really pretty white flowers…Is something the matter?" The receptionist was starting to show worry on her face.

"Call the police. Ask to be connected to the 22nd precinct and ask to speak to a Detective Monahan. I'll take the call from there."

The woman did as Susan instructed.

"Is there a problem out here?" Jed had left the control booth after he'd heard Susan's outburst, and was peering at her questioningly.

"There may be," Susan informed him carefully. "I'll fill you in in a moment."

"I've got the desk sergeant on the line, Dr. Susan."

Susan took the receiver that the receptionist was holding out to her. 

"Hello, Sergeant?"

"Yes, this is Sergeant Williams, how can I assist you?" came a tired-sounding voice.

"Sergeant, this is Dr. Susan Chandler. I need to speak to Detective Monahan immediately. He's handling a case and some possible new evidence has just turned up…"

A half hour later, the flowers that had been delivered to the WOR studios for Susan had been inspected by detectives. White lilies once again, another note was found buried in the stems, and it contained another ominous-sounding threat:

_Ask Dr. Susan if she's planned her funeral yet._


	19. On the Air Tonight

**19.**

Susan had called Don immediately after getting off the phone with the 22nd precinct, and he had hurriedly made his way to the radio station. 

To their dismay, word about the anonymous threats began to spread more rapidly than they desired. The news desk at WOR had broken the story of the threats without delay as police were completing their preliminary investigation of the second set of flowers, even though it was done against Susan and Don's wishes. However, Det. Monahan pointed out that releasing certain details to the public at that time could possibly work in their favour.

"You never know what tips the public might come up with," he reasoned. "Maybe someone sold the guy those flowers from their own private greenhouse. We're bound to catch a break in this case."

The receptionist, Carol, described the youth who made the delivery, and detectives quickly came to the conclusion that it did not match the general description of the person that Dana Brodie gave when the first set of lilies arrived the previous Monday.

 "I would guess we're looking at someone who pays or bribes random individuals to deliver them," Det. Monahan said of the flowers. "We're hoping this kid from today and the first guy who went to your offices will come in and talk to us about who 'hired' them to make the delivery, Dr. Chandler."

"Let's hope they do," Susan said. "And let's hope what they have to say is something useful."

Already having cancelled, postponed and re-scheduled several clients' appointments after closing their offices early when the first threat arrived, Don and Susan knew they could not afford to linger at the radio station for very long. They were already facing a heavy enough backlog that afternoon, and didn't need to worsen the situation by being late for their one o'clock appointments. With the evidence already removed from the radio station and taken to the police lab, the couple quietly departed after speaking with Det. Monahan and caught a cab. Susan had phoned ahead to Dana on her cellular, informing her that should she field any calls from reporters regarding the case, she was not to comment about anything. 

"It makes me very uncomfortable that this nut-case knows the location of both your places of work," Don said quietly, after Susan hung up. 

"You know, it _is public knowledge what I do," she said. "But I'll admit it creeps me out, too. Makes me feel…watched, somehow. I guess what really bothers me is that none of this makes any sense. Is someone just playing games? Like your defendant from Georgia trying to get under your skin? A patient from my practice, or maybe someone I helped put away that the police have overlooked? The long shot, of course, is that loser, Anton Riley."_

"All I know is that I want this to be solved, and I want it to end as soon as possible. I want this guy to be stopped before anything can happen. If it's a joke, it just isn't funny anymore." 

The taxi was pulling up to their building. Don pulled out some bills and muttered, "Keep the change."

"Thanks," the cabbie replied, taking the bills without bothering to count them. "And by the way - I hope you get your problems sorted out, too."

"You both have your one o'clock patients waiting," Dana said anxiously when they entered the reception area. She knew about their professional attitudes about the wrongs of making people in therapy wait. "And the phone's been ringing a lot about what's been going on," she added. "Don't worry – I haven't breathed a word about what I know."

"You're terrific, Dana," Susan smiled. "Keep it up."

Both Susan and Don then quickly made their way to their individual offices to deal with their patients.

At ten to two, the moment her session ended, Susan received a page from Dana. 

"It's a call from your mother on line one, Dr. Chandler," the receptionist informed her.

_Oh, no. Susan breathed deeply. _She's heard the news. I should have expected this…I should have told her sooner…__

Brushing aside the mental chastisement, she picked up the receiver. 

"Hi, Mom," Susan tried to mask the guilt she was feeling.

Several beats of silence passed before Emily spoke. "I just heard something rather upsetting on the news, Susan," she said slowly. "Tell me it's some kind of mistake."

"I'm afraid it isn't," she responded ruefully.

"Susan, how could you keep something like that from me?! I'm still your mother!"

"I know, Mom, and I'm really very sorry. We'd hoped to keep it under wraps for at least a while longer."

"This isn't the kind of thing you keep 'under wraps' from the people who care about you, Susan!" Emily protested.

"Mom, I just didn't want you to worry or panic. The police are all over it, and we still aren't entirely convinced it isn't a prank of some sort. There are plenty of kooks out there who have little else to do but try to become irritants to people in the public eye, and maybe grab some ill-deserved fame at the same time."

"If there's nothing to worry about, then there would have been nothing to hide," retorted Emily hotly. 

"I was just looking for the right time -"

"Try to understand what a shock it was to hear _on the news_ that my daughter has received two death threats in as many weeks, and I've been in the dark about it all this time. It's the sort of thing I _expect to hear from my daughter's own lips. It's not like I've been on the moon or something for the past two weeks. In fact, I've seen you twice in that time frame, haven't I?" Emily admonished._

"Well, Thanksgiving dinner and a birthday party really aren't the ideal places to air such morbid information, Mom," Susan said in frustration, then instantly regretted saying it.

Stony silence followed, which Susan guiltily broke.

"Look, Mom, that was a rude, rotten thing for me to say. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't let you know before the news vultures started blabbing it all over the airwaves. We just sort of hoped the whole thing would be resolved sooner. I just – I didn't want to worry you over nothing. You've had your share of worries."

"And it looks like I have good reason to worry, too, especially after what happened with Alexander Wright-"

"Let's…not talk about him, okay?" Susan interrupted hastily. "Mom, I understand that you're angry, worried and upset. But please believe me when I say that it was never my intention to be secretive. We were just waiting for the right time to inform everyone, but the media's insatiable appetite for a new story prevented that from happening. We never wanted you to find out this way."

Emily considered her daughter's words carefully. "Do you have any idea who's doing this?" she asked.

"We have some ideas, and the police are checking up on them… Now, I've got my two o'clock client waiting, Mom. I absolutely promise I'll call you tonight and tell you everything we know so far, okay?"

"All right, I'll let you off the hook for now," Emily relented. "But Susan, please be careful, and I _will_ be waiting for that call tonight. Remember – you promised to tell me everything."

"Right, Mom. Talk to you later."

"I love you, sweetheart," Emily said emphatically.

"I love you too. 'Bye, Mom," Susan concluded the conversation, and hung up. She took a deep breath, and then took another moment to collect her thoughts. Well, I think that went over as well as I could have expected it to go, she decided wryly, and opened her office door to invite her next client inside for the session.

***

The fax machine in Charles Chandler's office whirred to life and began spitting out pages of legal text and jargon crafted by lawyer, Mitchell Fletcher. Binky had been awaiting them, and when the transfer was complete, she gathered them up and brought them to Charles, who was relaxing in the den, fiddling with a newly installed satellite system. 

"These just came through for you from Mitchell Fletcher, Charley," Binky said. "He called earlier when you were asleep, and I didn't want to disturb you. He wanted me to let you know you could contact him, and that he didn't see why you couldn't finish everything up today if you wanted. He said they were confidential papers, and of course I told him sending them by courier wouldn't be necessary," 

"Thanks, honey," Charles smiled, rising to take the papers from her. "That's terrific. I'd better get on it right now if I want to catch him at work. It was so good of Mitch to get this done so quickly. I'm in my office, okay?" He kissed her and went on his way.

Binky stared after him until he had disappeared at the top of the stairs. She stood there, letting her thoughts flow freely for a long while, contemplating what the contents of the papers could mean. Eventually in anger and irritation, she plopped down on one of the imported leather couches and grabbed the elaborate television remote control. Its numerous functions ever confusing, she pointed it at the screen, opting to just try pressing the 'up channel' button. She was startled to see the breaking story of the afternoon on a news channel: that the host of a popular morning advice radio show, Dr. Susan Chandler, had been the recent recipient of two menacing threats against her life.

It was nearly eight o'clock at night when Don and Susan were able to make it home. Phone calls from reporters had not let up throughout the afternoon and into the evening, trying poor Dana's patience. If any of her late afternoon and evening patients had been aware of the situation, none of them let on to Susan during their sessions. 

The answering machine was full of messages, evidenced by the frantically blinking red light. Many of them were from news agencies.

"And here I thought our residential phone number was unlisted," Susan sighed.

"Anything is possible in this 'Information Age', I guess," Don replied wearily.

Other calls were from friends, expressing their disbelief, shock and outrage that someone would be brazen enough to make such threats. Susan paused rinsing watercress for a salad to hear one message recorded by Charles.

"Hi, honey, it's me," he started uncertainly, "Binky just told me she saw something about you being threatened by someone on the news just now…What's going on? I'm worried about you. Call me any time tonight, okay?" He clicked off. 

"I can just tell I'm going to be on the phone all night, re-assuring people," groaned Susan.

"Well, at least you know people care about you," Don reasoned, as he pulled out two plates and cutlery for their late dinner.

"I think I should issue some kind of blanket statement to the media in the morning. What do you think? Give them something to get them off our backs here," Susan proposed.

"That's not a bad idea," Don mused. "What are you thinking of saying?"

"I could say that yes, I did receive some threats, yes, we're cooperating with police, and that we appreciate all the public help and support, and that we would like curiosity-seekers to please respect our privacy, etcetera, etcetera…"

"You're not going to say it exactly like that, are you?" Don eyed her, a bemused expression on his face.

"Of course not, smart guy, but words to that effect."

After eating a quick meal, Susan was back on the phone, contacting those close friends and relatives who had called and left messages. She kept her promise of phoning Emily, and gave her as much information about the case that the detectives themselves were willing to share with the public. Susan did not, however, make any mention of the strange warning she had received from the woman named Claire, or the possibility that Anton Riley might be involved. 

Around 10:30, Susan was able to reach her father.

"Hi, Charles," she greeted him, still feeling uncomfortable even after three years at having to call him by his first name, something she was sure was a 'suggestion' of her stepmother's.  

"Susan, sweetie, I'm glad you called," Charles said.  
            "When did you two get back from St. Martin?" Susan asked.

"Tuesday night, honey," he replied. "Listen, me and Binky are terribly worried about you. Are you okay?"

He actually does sound concerned, Susan thought. I'll just bet Binky's worried, but I'm glad you still care.

"I'm fine, just really tired. It's been a long day." She filled him in on the details of the case, as much as she felt was necessary, and promised to keep in touch.

It was with  much relief that Susan and Don retired to bed that night. After such an eventful day, they were both soundly asleep within minutes of hitting their pillows. Susan's rest was filled with vague dreams and images, but one materialised quite clearly and vividly. She was once again in her deceased grandmother's house, standing in the kitchen. 

Overjoyed to see her, Susan said, "Hi, Gran! It's so good to see you!"

Gran Susie had looked at her seriously and said, "Be careful, Susan, it is dangerous now for both of you."

"What do you mean?" Susan tried to ask, but the words just wouldn't form. She kept frantically trying to spit the words out, but the more she tried, the less able she was to communicate anything at all besides a garbled whisper.

Gran Susie repeated the warning: "_Be careful, Susan, it is dangerous now for both of you!"_


	20. Emily visits Elizabeth

**Thursday Nov. 29**

Emily Chandler was sitting with Elizabeth Richards in Elizabeth's Tuxedo Park residence. 

"What upsets me most is that Susan never said a thing about any of this," Emily was saying. "I assume Don was equally silent with you, too, Liz."

"I noticed he was rather quiet last Saturday at the birthday party, but I simply chalked it up to stress and fatigue following his trip to Atlanta." Elizabeth sighed. "But what do you think, Em? Do you really think someone is deliberately setting out to harm Susan?"

"I just don't know. But what I _am_ is worried, upset and just plain _mad_ that someone would be doing this, even as a joke. Susan just doesn't realise how much I worry about her - and Don - especially after Alexander Wright. It's true, you know…even when your children grow up, that instinct in you to mother them and protect them never goes away."

Elizabeth nodded in agreement and sympathy.

"It's funny, you know. I didn't always worry about her like this. Sure, there were times when she was in the D.A.'s office that some of her cases gave me cause for alarm, but it was usually Dee who gave me palpitations. Modelling all over the world, weeks, sometimes months going by when we wouldn't see her. I'd always wonder: 'Is she safe?' 'Is she happy?' 'Is she being taken care of?' I was so glad and relieved when she settled down with Jack Harriman; my only misgivings being that it caused such heartbreak to Susan, and that they moved so far away. But by then Jack was almost like a son to me…I knew he'd be good to Dee. But I also knew how much their marriage crushed Susan. It was the first time I think, that I was ever really concerned about her. And then when Jack was killed so suddenly while skiing…if Susan had been holding on to even the faintest hope that they'd ever be together, it died a bitter death then. My heart ached for both my daughters that day."  

"I can understand," Elizabeth said softly. "Don was so lost when Kathy drowned, and there was absolutely nothing I could do, and it didn't help that they didn't recover  poor Kathy's body. Such helplessness in the face of such grief made me realise that even though we love someone very much, not even that love can snap them out of it. It tore me up that Don had no grave to visit, because instead he'd go down to that lake, and just stare and stare and stare into that water. Sometimes I feared he'd throw himself into its frigid depths and drown himself. I kept hoping he'd find someone; that he'd fall in love again and move on…but as the years went by, I was secretly afraid he would resent me for telling him he should get on with his life. Then one day he came by with a suitcase filled with the last of the pictures with Kathy and Kathy's things inside that he wanted me to keep for him in the attic. I knew something was going on, but I didn't pry. It was later that week that Alex Wright tried to…kill Susan."

"I thank God every day that Don felt something was wrong that night," Emily said fervently. "Susan admitted to me later that she had had her misgivings about Don and was even on the verge of suspecting him in the deaths of those missing women because of his background in cruise ship directing, his travelling schedule, and the fact that the _Gabrielle_ was his favourite ship...But really, I think she was looking for excuses to push him away. She didn't want to risk getting close to someone again, and I think she sensed that Don could be that someone for her, even from the beginning."

"I don't think I have to tell you how happy _I_ am they found each other," Elizabeth said, the joy in her voice apparent. "I had told Don I wanted to see him happy again, with someone whose eyes would light up when he entered the room. And I can remember the first time I saw that in Susan's face. It was just weeks after that awful time, at that first Thanksgiving when all of us met formally at your place in Rye…"

Emily nodded, remembering how she had been so nervous about having Elizabeth as a guest without ever having met her. Nervous, too, because of the presence of 'the new boyfriend' of Susan's.

"…Anyway, Don had excused himself from your living room to use the facilities," Elizabeth continued, "and when he returned, Susan was just looking at him with this beautiful, radiant smile on her face, and she said simply: 'Hey, you', and he sat down next to her and they put their arms around each other. She said it with such warmth, it surprised me. Yet it seemed so natural and spontaneous, it honestly sent shivers down my spine – of the good kind, of course. I knew right then my son was going to be just fine."

"I couldn't be happier myself," spoke Emily, then cast her eyes down. "I just wish I could shake the sense that something terrible is going to happen. This sort of thing isn't supposed to happen to people. Not to _my daughter and son-in-law."_

"You'd rather it happen to someone else?" Elizabeth questioned, eyebrows raised.

"I'd rather it not happen at all. I hope to God they catch whomever is doing this. I couldn't take it if…" Emily's voice trailed off.

"I know," whispered Elizabeth, "I know..." _And I know that my son wouldn't be able to take it, either. None of us could._

* * *

When Susan arrived at her practice following the radio program, Dana was just about to hang up the phone when she spoke into the receiver: "Oh, wait; she's just walked through the door. I'll just put you on hold for a moment, okay?"

"For me?" Susan asked.

"Yes. It's someone by the name of Chris Ryan. He says he has some information for you about 'the Subject'..? Said you'd know what he meant by that."

Susan felt her heart beat a little faster. "Great," she replied, trying to curb her enthusiasm. "I'll take it in my office right away." She swiftly made her way to her private space and shut the door securely.

"Hello, Chris," she greeted the retired FBI agent, "what have you got for me so far?"

"First things first, Susie," the older man replied. "I've been hearing about your problems on the news. Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine."

 "Good. Not so sure the blanket statement to the press this morning was such a great idea, though."

"Why not?"

"Now you've got them all waiting for the next sound bite. They're going to want updates even though you've made it clear you'd rather not be bothered. You sure you don't want me to drop what I'm doing for you now and turn my attention to catching the creep that's been threatening you?"

Susan laughed lightly. "Uh-uh…What I have you doing is important to me. And I have confidence in the Boys in Blue. Now quit stalling. Have you got something for me, or not?"

"You sure don't like wasting any time, do you? Okay, here's what I was able to dig up so far…"

For several long minutes Susan listened intently to the information Chris was relating to her. Some things she already knew, others surprised and unsettled her. She knew that she would have to compartmentalize much of what she was hearing in order to make sense of it all later.

"Of course I don't have to tell you I'll need a subpoena to get access to bank records, if in fact there are bank accounts registered to any of those aliases," Chris was saying.

"You mean you haven't done that yet?" Susan chided merrily. "You're slipping, Chris."

"Very droll. The problem is probable cause, Susie. We both know we have nothing to give to a judge that would warrant the investigation of personal bank records. People change names. It's not against the law."

"There's got to be _something_," Susan said, a little frustrated. "A criminal record somewhere along the line that shows a pattern of fraud or theft…"

"I told you from the start that I had my misgivings about this investigation," Chris reminded her.

"Only because you know it's personal," Susan replied. "If you find definite proof that there have been prior convictions, I'll just have to deal with the fallout."

"Okay," Chris sighed. "I'll see if I can locate any criminal records at all this time. If we find something, then maybe we can elicit a judge's John Henry on a search warrant into some banking records. No promises, though."

"There's got to be somebody still left in the bureau who owes you one, Chris," Susan said, "it may be unlikely, but I want to cover all angles. A thorough check through the FBI's database would be much appreciated."

"I'm owed more than one," Chris said with mock indignation, "and I'll see what I can do. They're very stingy with their records, you know…And Susie,"

"Yes?"

"Please be careful."

"I will."

"Listen, if you want, I can have one of my guys from the firm camped out in front of your house; escort you and Don to work, you name it -"

"That's a very kind offer, Chris, but it's not necessary."  
"I figured you'd say that."

"'Bye, Chris," Susan said firmly, heard him respond in kind, then hung up the phone. She looked at her watch and realised she had mere minutes to ready herself for her one o'clock patient. Knowing that the information Chris was digging up would definitely start causing problems, Susan knew she would soon have to decide how to meet those problems head-on before they got out of hand. But for the moment, that would have to wait: her patient was in the waiting area and was ready to come in for the appointment.


	21. Leaves a Bad Taste in the Mouth

**Thursday, Nov. 29 - late Afternoon**

At 6:50 pm, after Don had seen his last patient of the day, he locked up his private office door and entered the common reception area he and Susan shared. Dana Brodie had already left, and he realised Susan still had one last patient to see at 7:00 pm before they went home. Knowing that she was probably in need of a little break, Don set a pot of coffee brewing and arranged some tea biscuits on a paper plate. He rapped gently on her door in case she was still busy with her 6 o'clock appointment. 

"Come in," he heard her call.

"Thought you could use a little snack," he said, bringing in two cups of coffee and the biscuits on a tray.

"Thank you, Don," she said in appreciation, and took a sip from the steaming mug. Instantly, she scrunched up her nose in distaste.

"What is it?" Don asked. "Too hot?"

"I'm beginning to think you've forgotten how to make a decent cup of coffee, honey."

"What do you mean?"

"This morning you got up first, so you made breakfast," Susan said.

"Right…so…" Don prodded.

"Well, the coffee was pretty awful then, too," Susan stated, an apologetic look on her face.

"It's the same coffee we've been having since we got married, sweetheart, and it's the same brand you're holding in your hands now. Is it really that bad?"

She gave a wry nod. Don reached for her mug and took a large sip himself, then shrugged when he didn't detect anything amiss.

"Tastes fine to me," he said, passing it back to her. "Seriously, Susan, maybe the stress with everything that's been going on is just affecting you in some unexpected ways."

"Either that, or it could be that you're just trying to poison me," she teased.

"Rats, you've figured me out!" Don joked, shaking his head. "Here, I'll dump that out for you if you're not going to finish it."

"Thanks," she said, handing him the offending drink. "If you see my last patient coming in, send her this way for me, will you?"

"Sure. See you in an hour."

* * *

Det. Sean Monahan was in a late-afternoon meeting with a forensic botanist, Dr. April Orlowski, on loan from New York University. After the second set of flowers had arrived at the radio station, Monahan had called her in asking for help due to her expertise in that field.

She was fortyish, and had a surprisingly fresh-looking, unlined face. An attractive streak of grey that ran through her dark, collar-length hair was the only telltale sign of her age. 

"The results conclusively show that both sets of flowers are genetically identical. They definitely sprouted from the same bulb." Dr. Orlowski said, flipping through the report in her hand. 

"And there can be no room for error on this?" Det. Monahan asked anxiously.

"Forensic botany is a relatively new area, Detective, but it's just as precise as any other kind of DNA evidence that's routinely heard in courts today. In forensic botany, we use _Random Amplified Polymorphic_ DNA, or RAPD, which uses numerous short primers, or base pairs, to amplify the genome in various random locations. What we get in the end is a unique 'genetic fingerprint' of the sampled organism. Now, the two sets of flowers you took in as evidence that I typed are _lilium candidium_, more commonly known as the 'Casa Blanca' Oriental Hybrid Lily. Quite beautiful and quite fragrant. Usually those lovely pure white blooms last a good while and are almost 11 inches across. The largest one I measured in either bunch was at 10.8 inches. Find me the parent plant these were harvested from and I'll be able to make a match. It'd be my guess that the green thumb that planted these is the mystery 'admirer'. Any luck finding him?"

"Not yet," Monahan said slowly. "We have some leads we're following up on. Nevertheless, I'd like to know: How likely is it that both these sets of flowers were picked up at a garden center? "

"Well, because of the genetic match, I'd say nil. Million-to-one chance..."

"So the average person is capable of doing this?"

"You mean growing and harvesting the Casa Blanca? Sure. Some people have a knack for growing things and others don't, Detective. My husband for instance, is a plant killer, and he knows not to even attempt to touch my houseplants. He's just not gifted that way. It's not impossible for the layperson, but you do have to have some idea of what you're doing with these hybrids. What I'd say you're looking for is someone with a really nice garden or greenhouse. In the case of a garden, these flowers would have definitely been taken indoors and potted for that cold spell and snowstorm we recently had in the city."

"If I wanted to grow these lilies, how would I obtain them?"

"In this case, the fellow most likely got them as bulbs. Those can be purchased through garden centers or catalogues; even from the Internet."

"That's an awful lot of ground to cover," sighed Monahan. "Thanks, Dr. Orlowski, I owe you one."

"You're welcome, detective," she replied with a smile, and departed after shaking his hand.

Monahan sunk down in his aging chair and leaned back, ignoring the creaking sounds of protest it made. The case was going absolutely nowhere as far as narrowing down suspects went. Regarding the flowers, initial findings showed that the stems had most likely been cut with the same pair of gardening scissors; the angle of the cut similar on all eight flowers taken in as evidence. So not only could they be looking to match a cutting utensil, but plant DNA as well.

The next logical step, of course, would be to canvass garden centers for any information about someone especially interested in Casa Blanca Oriental hybrids. How many damn garden centers were there in the city? In the state? Monahan didn't even want to begin to think about how many possible options there were for purchasing the bulbs over the Internet or through gardening catalogues. 

He sat forward and flipped through Dr. Orlowski's report. Clearly, the woman had done her work. She'd even taken the pains to note how the lilies were grown, and possible places they could be obtained. Bulbs were available for purchase in a number of ways, including cryogenically frozen ones for forcing in greenhouses. From planting the bulbs to harvesting the buds, Monahan began to form the opinion that Dr. Susan Chandler's stalker was working on a strict timetable and had probably been planning his actions for some time in advance. Which would rule out a spontaneous, angered reaction on the part of someone like Anton Riley, the detective mused unhappily. Monahan expelled his breath in frustration and leaned back in the chair once again, frowning this time at the usual irritating noise that accompanied the action.

Thus far, no one had come in claiming to have been asked by a stranger to deliver flowers to the Central Park West office or the WOR studios. Maybe they were paid double to keep their mouths shut, Monahan thought angrily. Perhaps making a public appeal with the promise of a reward might help refresh some memories. It was an idea he'd have to run by Susan and Don Richards. Without a description of the guy, they were going in blind. At least if they had a composite sketch or picture, they had something to go to the garden centers with.

There's something we're not seeing here, but what? Monahan asked himself in frustration as he leaned forward, resting his arms on his desk and glancing at the report one more time before closing it. Somewhere out there was some guy with soil, fertilizer and lilies as his pets who was making life miserable for Dr. Susan Chandler. 

The word around the district from those that knew her during the time she was an Assistant D.A. was that she'd been an excellent trial lawyer. They'd had high hopes for her career when she dropped off the law-enforcement radar and went back to school to study psychology. A questionable move, for sure, but one that Monahan respected. Sure takes guts to change stride mid-stream, especially amidst a successful career, he thought. Susan Chandler had once been part of the team that brought justice to the citizens of New York's Westchester County, and even though they'd never worked together, Monahan felt the pressing need to apprehend the 'green thumb' for her quickly, because his gut was telling him they were running out of time. 


	22. No Rest for the Wicked

**Friday, Nov. 30**

46-year old Audrey Ellis looked with a mother's anxiety at her teenaged son, Garry. The youth sat glumly in a waiting area of the 22nd precinct, hunched over, arms dangling between his knees. 

If his father knew we were here he'd have a fit, Audrey thought nervously. She stole a glance down the legs of Garry's baggy cargo pants to the pair of Nikes on his feet. Brand new Nikes. Well, at least she knew how he got them. Audrey had been worried about that when they had first appeared on his feet a couple days ago. 

"Mrs. Ellis?" A desk sergeant called out to the pair.

"Yes?"

"A detective Stuart will see you and your son now."

"Oh, thank you. Let's go, Garry." Audrey stood, and tapped her immobile son on the shoulder. 

He was slow to rise, hoping to prolong the inevitable meeting with this cop who was going to ask a bunch of pointless questions. Garry was not especially happy to be here. He knew how some cops looked down on minorities. Treated them like dirt, the condescending bastards. He'd heard the stories of brutality; picking on them for no good reason. Maybe they'd even try to pin this whole death threat thing on him. Heck, he'd never even heard about that until his mother had made him confess about where he got the shoes. He walked with slow, sullen steps behind his mother.

Detective Allan Stuart was seated in his tiny, windowless office, and stood when Audrey and Garry entered. The teen tried to hide his shame, chiding himself for his earlier line of thinking. Detective Stuart was a very visible racial minority himself. So much for that line of defence, Garry cringed inwardly, realising he had one less reason to be un-cooperative.

"Thank you for coming in," detective Stuart said, motioning to two well-used chairs stacked in a corner. "I'm afraid they aren't very comfortable, but you're welcome to sit, anyway."

Audrey and Garry chose to sit.

"I thought a detective Monahan was in charge of this investigation," Audrey started, after trying to settle into one of chairs.

"Yes, detective Monahan has taken the lead - but I'm also working with him, covering some of the tips that have come in," Stuart explained.

"Oh, I see."

"Let's get down to it, shall we? I've been informed that your son, Garry, may have something important to tell us about this case."

"Well, yes…You see, he'd come home the other afternoon and I noticed he got these new shoes…" Audrey glanced down towards the ground once more. Detective Stuart didn't seem interested in the new foot ware.

"Which afternoon was that, Mrs. Ellis?"

"Wednesday," she answered. "I asked him to tell me where he'd got 'em, because he doesn't work, and me and his father didn't give him no money to buy 'em."

Detective Stuart looked at the teen. Serious-looking. Wearing a scowl. Stuart hated using labels, but he felt Garry looked the picture of the typical 'mad-at-the-whole-world', disgruntled youth.

"So, where did you get them, Garry, and with whose money?" Stuart asked, hoping to engage him in the conversation.

Garry looked down at his hands for a moment. Sighing, he glanced up at detective Stuart. He said, "At first, I tried to make my parents believe I borrowed 'em from a guy I play ball with, but I could tell they didn't believe me. My mom was worried I was getting involved with drugs and gangs and stuff, so eventually I had to tell her what really happened."

"Okay," detective Stuart encouraged, "go on."

"See, Wednesday I cut class…And I just went out to hang with some other guys I know, maybe sneak into a movie, or go play ball somewhere. So I'm just out walking, minding my own business for a while tryin' to make plans when this dude comes up out of nowhere and asks me if  I wanted to make a delivery for him."

Detective Stuart leaned forward, deeply interested.

"I was thinking like, 'Hell, no! I ain't gonna be no drug mule for no punk.' But then he showed me this big bouquet of flowers, really sweet-smelling. Dude asked me if I know where the WOR studios were on 41st and Broadway. I was like, 'Yeah, I know', and he said it was real important those flowers get there before noon, and that it was even more important that I keep it super-secret that I was even asked to deliver them. Flashed this C-note in my face and said, 'I can trust you, right, my man? Don't tell a soul'. I figured, this dude must be some kind of desperate Romeo, or something. So I said I'd do it."

"You took the flowers and the hundred?" Detective Stuart asked.

"Yeah. Told me to let the secretary or whatever, know they were for a Dr. Susan Chandler."

"When Garry told me that after I made him come clean about the shoes, I remembered hearing something about some threats to that Dr. Chandler on the news," Audrey cut in. "That's when I said, 'We got to tell the police about this'."

"You get a good look at the guy who asked you to make the delivery?" Detective Stuart looked at Garry carefully.

"Not really," Garry answered slowly, "He had on these dark shades and a hood over his head. He was wearing black gloves, too."

"Was he Caucasian? Black? Hispanic…?" Stuart pressed.

"Oh, this was a white dude," Garry said positively, catching on to what Stuart was trying to ascertain. "I'd say he was just over six feet, average build... And he smelled really clean. I mean, I could smell him and the flowers, but he smelled different from the flowers, like he'd been using bleach or something."

"That's good, Garry," Stuart said, "you notice anything else? Anything at all, like tattoos or scars? Did he talk funny or walk funny?"

Garry reflected for a moment, then shook his head. "Naw, man, I didn't notice anything else, really. Like I said, he was pretty covered up. Maybe he had a bit of a five o'clock shadow, but I didn't see any scars or tattoos or nothing. Dressed all in black."

Detective Stuart frowned. It would be troublesome to try to track down the hundred-dollar bill Garry received for making that delivery. That C-note would have been part of the shoe store's Wednesday night deposit and would be in some bank somewhere by now, perhaps. And even if they chose to pursue that line of investigation, how close would it bring them to the man that approached Garry? 

"Which store did you purchase your shoes with that hundred, Garry? Did you keep the receipt?"

"I got the receipt somewhere," the young man replied. "I bought 'em at the Athlete's Foot on Broadway and 49th."

"Thanks a lot, Garry. You've been great. We'd like it if you kept yourself available for further questioning, okay? And if you think of anything more about this guy – anything at all – please call me." The detective handed Garry his card. "You've got to understand we think this guy is very dangerous and very serious about the threats he's been making. We don't know why he chose you to make the delivery, but if he happens to approach you again, I want you to call us immediately."

Garry nodded. "Okay, got it. Can I go now?"

"Yes; thank you both for coming in. And don't forget, Garry – call us if you remember anything else about Wednesday that could be helpful."

Detective Stuart sat down after seeing Audrey and Garry out. Foremost on his mind was the fact that Garry's description of the man was almost identical to the one Dana Brodie, the Richards' secretary, gave when the very first delivery was made. And that description wasn't released to the media. While not conclusive, it did mean that Garry was certainly not making up his encounter, and had most probably spoken with the actual person threatening Dr. Susan Chandler. Another worrisome thought occurred to him. Would this perp be upset enough to harm Garry if he knew Garry had spoken to them? He'd made the youth promise not to tell and had even bribed him for his silence. Now that Garry had broken that promise, could he be in danger? God, I hope not, Stuart thought. 

                                                                                * * *

Binky Chandler needed to get out of the house. Late November meant that golf season was over, and Charles was spending more time indoors, much to her dismay. The fact that Charles' close friend, Dan Lake and his wife, Nan, had taken off for warmer weather for the winter meant he was not so eager to participate in any outside functions. 

God, how things have changed since he's retired, Binky thought with disgust. Still insecure and unwilling to take steps unless someone else motivates him. How on earth he managed to ever get Bannister Foods off the ground on his own continues to amaze me. Of course, the word always was that he had Emily to thank for that… 

At the Westchester Country Club, Binky was expecting to enjoy an afternoon of gossipy company with the other ladies she had come to know over the past seven years. 

What she was not expecting was that she herself would be at the center of the gossip circle. 

Binky arrived unescorted to the club restaurant, making a quiet entrance. The maître d' had not yet spotted her, and feeling almost ignored, Binky pushed ahead and slowly approached a table where several acquaintances were seated. None of the women saw her as they seemed to be engaged in deep conversation.

As she neared, Binky overheard an animated voice squeaking, "…And Nan Lake told me over the phone from down in Florida…Charley was practically gushing over his ex!"

Binky froze. The voice belonged to Lynn McMillan, notorious gossip. The company of women still had not seen her, and several were expressing their surprise and shock over what Lynn was relating to them. 

"Yes, seriously!" Lynn continued, her eyes dancing merrily. "Her husband, Dan was here last week to have lunch with Charley, and he heard it all. Said he was really upset and sorry when he heard about that time Emily was almost suckered into handing over all her life savings…Even pledged to help her out if things got rough! Isn't that a riot? If I were Binky, I'd start looking over my shoulder! You know what they say: if he leaves _her_ for you, he may leave _you_, too!"

Binky felt her cheeks turn scarlet. 

"Oh, _Binky_, darling!" Lynn had spotted her. "We were just talking about you! Tell me, how's dear Charley doing now that he doesn't have Dan to practice his golf swing with?"

                                                                                            * * *

It had been a long week for Susan and Don, catching up on backlogged and re-scheduled appointments. While they still hadn't completely caught up, it was with a sense of accomplishment that they locked up their offices at 7 p.m. Friday evening and headed home. 

            "As the popular saying goes, TGIF," Susan sighed as they pulled up to their duplex. She was grateful that today Don had chosen to drive to work himself so that they would not have to hail a cab for the return trip in the evening. Somehow, even being in the comforts of one's own car instead of a taxi driven by a stranger made the stress of the evening traffic easier to take. She was also grateful that the media appeared to be honouring their request for privacy, as their front drive and surrounding street parking was devoid of news vans and reporters camped out for the latest quote.

            "This week has been hell," Don assented. "But that call from detective Monahan about the progress they're making is very encouraging."

            "I'm glad that kid came forward about his encounter with the suspect," Susan said. "Restores my faith in today's youth."

            "I didn't know you'd lost it," Don said lightly.

            "Okay, so I haven't," she admitted. "But things have just been so lousy that to catch a break like this is great." Susan fished her front door house key out of her shoulder bag after closing the car door. Don followed her out to the entrance and nearly bumped into her when she stopped suddenly.

            "Hey - " Don started, confused.

            "Tell me I'm not seeing what I'm seeing on our doormat." In the shadows cast by a streetlight a little too far away to provide adequate illumination, Don saw the outline of what appeared to be an arrangement of flowers. Without moving another step he snapped open his cell phone and made the call to the 22nd precinct.

            After the forensics teams had completed their investigation and sweep of the area surrounding Don and Susan's home, detective Monahan brought the third card found once again buried between the stems of what they knew to be Casa Blanca Oriental hybrid lilies for Susan to read.

            "Do I really want to see what it says?" she asked dully, but looked up at the message anyway.

            It read: _ Ask Dr. Susan if she's ready to die._


End file.
